Hamster

I have a hamster. Not a real pet one, though. No, this hamster is in my head. (No, he’s not in my butt, you pervs. I know someone would be thinking that.) He isn’t up all the time. I only hear him when he gets in his wheel. Now that I think about it, I don’t really know if he is a he or a she. I don’t even have a name for him (which for the sake of this post we will consider him a male.) He only gets in his wheel either late at night, or very early in the morning. He is powered by me. By my fears, doubts, insecurities, shortcomings, failings, etc. Lately the lil’ bugger sure has been busy.

He usually starts if I can’t fall to sleep at night. I will try to keep my mind totally blank. I know, I know, you are surprised to hear my mind isn’t totally blank all the time. I will try to focus on the crickets outside. I am used to the ones inside by now. I will try to think of the beach to soothe me. Soon enough, I start to hear the sound. He has emerged, and gets in his wheel for the night. Even though I have been incredibly tired most nights, and go to bed disgustingly early. (It’s only a matter of time till my parents call me about something, and T will have to say “No, he’s sleeping right now. Yes, yes I know it’s only 8:30”) Even though I crave sweet slumber, the wheel creaks to life. It’s like that noisy neighbor upstairs that keeps you up all night. If it was a giant hamster. In a big, squeaky wheel.

All the negative things surface, and the guy thinks he’s at fricking Daytona. You could call it like your mind is racing. Except, in my case, it’s a hamster in a metaphorical wheel. All the questions start to come up. All the doubts arise. I can hear him. I can hear what he’s saying.

Why can’t I fucking find a job? Is there something that wrong with me? Can I possibly keep doing the *** I have now much longer? Why does this *** kill me so much? Why can’t I find the motivation to go to the gym more than just the weekends anymore? Am I drinking too much? Why aren’t I eating better? Did I really need to have M&Ms for dinner? Not dessert, mind you, I mean actually dinner. Am I a good enough husband? Am I being a shitty pet owner?

Yea, this goddamned hamster knows all my weak spots. He especially comes out Sunday nights, when I have 5 days staring at me. The racket is horrible. But he doesn’t just care about the *** situation. No he loves to annoy about money as well. The 401k that is just sitting there. He bugs me about how the beach house looks further away than ever. I swear, sometimes it’s like he gets in my wallet, and eats all my money. Little fucker. Either that, or the weekly rum blackouts. One or the other.

The hamster will even go for my soft spots. He’ll make me second guess my fantasy football teams. Now, c’mon, that’s really a cheap shot. Yea, maybe Michael “The Burner” Turner and Ryan Grant are risks in the third round, but they were the best left on the board! At least he doesn’t give me shit for taking Owens in the second round.

And the hamster works for you, too. He will weasel (the best a hamster can weasel. Geez, there’s a line that I bet has never been written) into my head how I am not writing much (good) stuff. And surely there are 5-6 people on the whole internet who might look forward to my occasional bits of wisdom. He’s been pretty loud lately, so maybe by giving him some props now, he will leave me alone tonight.

He’ll spin his wheel about the seemingly littlest things. The things that probably are no big deal, but just might be. Stuff like should I get my finger checked out. Wander over to Kevolution Theory to get that reference. All these rusty nails that poke me, can I get sick from that? Should I worry about, O, I don’t know, maybe breathing in too much asbestos and how it could haunt me further down the road.

He doesn’t only work on my issues. He can spin his wheel all damn night about other stuff. Like, for example, how can the fucking ex-con across the street get out of jail (again) and have some sort of income where she can buy not one, but 2 new cars in a matter of months? Er, wait a minute, I think I might be ale to figure that one out. But it still pisses me off.

He’ll get going on bizarre things as well. Like he’ll make me worry that a pregnant spider just crawled in my ear. He’ll make me wonder why the diet iced tea I am drinking as I type this makes me pee every damn 15 minutes.

He’s pretty hip on pop culture as well. He keeps me up wondering if 24 will actually be any good this year. He wonders if Pam & Jim will ever get together from The Office (we’re both catching up with the reruns on TBS). He wonders whatever happened to the World Series of Pop Trivia on VH1. Why won’t they release Parker Lewis Can’t Lose on DVD already?

And the wheel goes round and round. Sometimes it’s stuff I thought I have already dealt with. Other times, it’s something entirely new. I wish I had his energy. Sometimes I lie awake, too early in the morning, my body just wanting nothing more to get a few more hours in. It can be quiet and serene. I don’t even hear the hamster get up. I hear the wheel, though. Always the same, starts a little slow. I guess he knows he should warm up a bit first. But then he takes off, and I know I have already lost the battle.

Ultimately, I know it’s me that somehow feeds him. And it seems like if I can just get this *** thing taken care of, the guy might give me a break. Maybe just writing about him will give me some rest. I don’t hear him now, but I know he’s always there…..