Continue Reading Below Advertisement

Jesus, why does it always hurt to wake up? My mouth tastes like a combination of ass and a Subway sandwich -- and Subway sandwiches already taste like a combination of ass and olives. I can feel my heart beat, thick and heavy. How do people do this every single day? It can't be this bad for everybody. Some assholes must just spring out of bed in full running gear and greet the new day like a dog greets a long-gone owner. Those dirty sons of bitches.

All right.

OK.

Just suck it up. Be a man. Move that leg.

That leg is not moving.

We have to figure a way out of these oppressive blankets. Wait: If you shot a blue portal on the floor here, right next to the bed, and then shot an orange portal upright against the far wall there, you could just roll out of bed, fall through the blue portal, and the momentum would shove you through the orange portal - standing and maybe even moving a little. Yeah, yeah! That'll work. So OK, here we go, firing the portaaaaaw shit.

***

Despite my legs creaking and groaning like the hold of an old sailing ship, and the dull burning of my eyes as the lids scrape cruelly across them, I manage to make it down to the bathroom, wash my face and brush my teeth before the wife knocks on the door.

"Can I start getting ready too?" she asks. I roll my eyes, take a step back and dutifully shoot a portal to the door, and another to the shower behind me. I stare at myself from behind.

Continue Reading Below Advertisement

Jesus, you idiot, you put a portal on theof the door.

On the plus side, it's the only time you'll get an actual, in-person view of your own ass.

Wait, portals are a real thing, right?

I thrash awake.

"What's wrong, honey?" She can tell I'm not fully sleeping.

"Portals. I keep forgetting whether or not I can do them," I reply, my brain still half-submerged in sleep.

"You can't," she answers helpfully. "You can't do portals. Did you stay up all night playing your game?"

"Yeah. Don't use the orange one right now; it leads to the toilet."

"What?"

***

It's morning. Late for work again.

Shit.