I was just falling asleep when my phone lit up like a sad, lonely, hungry pinball machine. I let it go to voicemail. Later when I read the transcription of the message it said, “Hi this is Adrian…” and I wondered if Adrian was a man or a woman.
Between that and then I slept. I dreamt that I slept with a women. Each time we slept together in the dream we each got a new tattoo. I woke up naked beneath my clothes.
By this time it was winter and I had started to wonder. Why did I sleep so much? Sleeping exhausted me.
I called Adrian back. By that I mean I pushed the underlined highlighted ten-digit number in the transcript of his or her message which I hadn’t listened to yet. Not knowing was killing me: suicide by procrastination.
“Hello?” a voice answered.
“Hello, Adrian(?)” I replied with a muffled yet hopeful confidence simultaneously signifying and belying the inflected parenthetical question mark.
“No, I’m sorry, Adrian has left for the day. Can I take a message?”
“No, that’s ok,” I said and went back to sleep reminding myself to program Adrian’s number into my phone when I woke up. Whenever that might be. I turned off my phone so as to avoid the temptation and sleep undisturbed.