Are you one of those people that can?t drink a damn thing after supper?

Doesn?t matter if it?s a mouthful of water or fifteen beer.

Your bladder hears liquid and goes, ?Oh yeah? We?re doing this ALL night!?

I swear my bladder?s the size of a field mouse?s knapsack.

Holds nothing.

Meanwhile, my brain?s trying to sleep and my bladder?s stretched so tight it?s got the end of my pecker feeling like it?s ready to pop off like a champagne cork.

The routine is always the same.

First, I lie there convincing myself I don?t really have to go.

I?m not asleep. I?m not awake. I?m floating in that dangerous middle zone where your body is lying to you.

You don?t have to pee.

You?re fine.

Relax!

Five seconds later, my bladder sends a message directly to my soul!

GET UP NOW OR DIE!

????

So, I fire the blankets off like I?m escaping a house fire and jump to my feet.

Immediately start stomping and muttering under my breath while feeling my way around the bed.

Now listen! I KNOW there?s a steel leg under that corner.

I FUCKIN KNOW IT!

And yet I kick it every fuckin night like I?m trying to prove a point to myself.

The muttering turns into yelling.

The stomping gets louder.

I?ve now woken everyone else in the house.

Tears swelling in my eyes, leaning against the wall holding my big toe, almost forgetting why I?m even out of bed.

Almost.

Then it hits me again.

I grab the front of my underwear and take off down the hallway like an escaped zoo animal.

The cat thinks I?m trying to murder her.

She?s scrambling, sliding across the floor, running for her life.

I don?t care.

I?ve got bigger problems.

There?s no time for lights.

Lights are a luxury.

I?m feeling for the lid while pulling out my gear, listening for the sweet sound of splashing water and praying to whatever god handles plumbing emergencies.

Because if you miss?

Now you gotta turn on the light and mop the floor.

And nothing ruins sleep worse than piss cleanup at three in the morning.

If I don?t miss the bowl, one of the kids has left something dead center in the hallway.

A toy.

A shoe.

Some mystery object that exists only to end lives.

I slip.

And let me tell you something.

I?m a big man.

When I go down, it sounds like someone knocked the side off the fuckin house.

Anybody who wasn?t awake already is now wide awake.

Lights come on.

Doors open.

And there I am.

Lying in the hallway.

Urine stained underwear.

???Moaning like a monkey having sex on a pile of rocks.

After the chaos settles, I gather up my blankets like a defeated caveman, crawl back into bed, close my eyes, replay the entire event, and hope I fall asleep in five minutes.

Three hours later?

Guess who?s tossing around like a three year old throwing a hissy fit.

Guess who?s doing the exact same routine.

Every.

Single.

Goddamn.

Night.

Hydration is important they say.

Yeah.

So is sleep.

Apparently I can only pick one.

??????????????...and that's callin' it like it is!

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Canadian artist & digital troublemaker Colin John Cook shares his louder-than-life, awkward, and honest-as-hell stories. Packed with humour, real talk & creative insights in a no filter, digital comedy space that laughs at life & calls it like it is. He is also the Founder and President of

The Hidden Gallery - Art Studio & Micro Theatre

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