The O.C. Night
I was in rough shape. Threw up twice the night before and had no idea why—one of those nights where your body just bails on you completely. Then couldn’t sleep.
I’d made some deal with Becca that we’d actually try this time, you know, really go for it. Those conversations feel real when you’re having them, like intention alone might change something. Then you’re sick and it’s 3 AM and you’re alone with the thought that maybe nothing fixes anything.
I gave up on sleep around 8 PM and queued up The O.C. Just kept watching. Ten episodes straight, no breaks, no stopping—one episode flowing into the next until the sun was up and I was still there in the dark. There’s something about being that hollowed out that makes television work the way it should. It doesn’t ask for anything from you. Just plays. Ryan and Marissa and all that Orange County melodrama unfolding while you’re basically a ghost in a chair.
School was obviously not happening. Sleep deprivation and nausea don’t mix. Didn’t bother calling in or making an excuse—just didn’t go. Honestly didn’t mind. The whole day dissolving felt earned somehow.