I tried sleeping in a casket and all I got was this stupid blog

picture: Gizmodo

A casket was delivered to the G/O media office a few weeks ago. my colleague, Kevin Hurler, Taylor Swift made an aspect of her personality that could be mined for blogs, and this casket (in a different color) was featured in her Anti-Hero music video. Naturally, he tried to sleep through it, lasting about 30 minutes, and spent the rest of his day.

I don’t have any particular feelings one way or the other about Taylor Swift (she’s cool, I guess? Swifties have no shade, you all do) but I do. care a lot related to A the couple different The Vampire Show And I have a deep and abiding need for a bit of commitment in any situation. Naturally, I made an appointment with the casket and sent a pitch to my editor: “What if I try to sleep in a casket? like a vampire?”

We discussed a few different options: open or close the lid? (Open, for safety, though it was quickly day-scorned.) Shall I spend the night or the day in the casket? (Daytime, obviously, when vampires sleep, duh.) Can I deadtweet from a casket? (Absolutely not, my editor said. I did it anyway, because I thought it would be funny. Screw the guy.) Should I dress up as a vampire? (We said yes, but then I realized I’d have to dress up as a vampire for a few hours in a casket and I decided not to. Sorry, I’m really bummed about that.) What would Molly Taft, another coworker, wear? Guillermo de la Cruz And stand guarding my casket? (Yes, they would. However, they didn’t.) With all these details arranged, I entered the office.

There was just one small snag. I was still alive. Everyone knows that vampires are undead creatures of the night, and I was still a living, breathing member of the human race. Fortunately for me, Death moved to the office.

Kirby Howell-Baptiste, a British actress who appeared Killing Eve, The Good PlaceAnd CruellaAlso stars in Netflix’s Death of the Endless Sandman, an adaptation of Neil Gaiman’s seminal comic. It just so happened that on the day I was scheduled to rise in a casket to meet immortality like a gentleman, death itself decided to settle down. I had to show him my coffin, naturally, and he immediately tried it on, prepared it for its next occupant (me) and was generally pleasant. After we talked (full interview coming soon!) I decided I was ready. It was time to die.

I dove into it. I know I told my editor I wouldn’t tweet, but I’m a monster, and I brought my phone, a book, and a flashlight into the coffin with me. My defense is that I’m pretty sure modern vampires have their phones and Claudia does Interview with the Vampire His little notebooks are with him all the time, so it wasn’t much of a stretch to bring books. And then, decision time. Should I close the lid or not?

RIP Kevin Hurler, but I digress. I decided that today I was going too close to the girlboss (not girl) sun. I closed the lid. If I was going to do it, I was going to commit. The lid was closed and I lay on my back, looking at the white satin lining the coffin and I thought to myself, you know, it’s not so bad. And then, I fell asleep.

I woke up a few hours later, a little confused, a little dehydrated, but, for the most part, perfectly fine. But I came to a conclusion. We had established that we could sleep in coffins; Now was my chance to call it a success, bail out of my undead prison, and get to real work. But it was still five hours until sunset (sunset is 4:36 p.m. in New York City that day) and I was already comfortable, and you know what, my mom didn’t give a damn. I stayed in that cask.

And then lunchtime hits. I slacked off on my boss who reminded me that under our union contract I was entitled to my lunch break, and since I couldn’t actually survive on human blood (granted, that was a guess), I could leave the casket to get food. However, he said, he had to eat lunch in the cask. It was a compromise, but I was hungry and I took the deal. Which is why, about 30 minutes later, I was sitting in the casket with a burrito bowl and a cup of kombucha, and Justin Rodriguez took this awesome photo of me to send to my editor as proof. I bound it below.

Now, the home stretch. I slide back into rest and try to take another nap. No dice. I managed to pull the flashlight around my neck, put the book just above the casket, and read a chapter or two before my arms got tired. The book, ironically enough, t. Kingfisher was a horror novel A house with good bones. I recommend it. very scary It comes out in March. Regardless, it didn’t put me to sleep.

I should mention something about caskets. They are not made with body heat in mind. I quickly learned that my little body (already running pretty warm to begin with) was not made for a casket. I was very hot. Not warm enough to convince me to leave the heat, but definitely warm enough to make me feel a little tight. It wasn’t ideal, but I’m a trooper, and I can honestly say I’ve slept in less ideal conditions than a warm, dry casket in the middle of an open office in midtown Manhattan. Ask me about the summer I spent outside, in a hammock, on a boat, literally sleeping through light storms. Now that’s a real challenge.

So I kept tweeting occasionally, a few of my colleagues came over to say hello and talk to me, and I waited for the rest of my day. I opened the casket while chatting with my comrades. I thought it was strange enough that I was literally sleeping in a casket in the middle of the work day, that I could look them in the eye while talking to them, prone, in a casket. I have very serious work.

I’m resting and I’m doing fine, actually, I’ve been completely normal

And then, as I waited the last 30 minutes in that warm, slightly humid casket that smelled vaguely of ozone and pollo adobo, I asked myself. Can I do this every day? Can I place myself in a casket, sleep through the sunlight, and then rise, anew, a thirsty and terrible messenger of darkness? People around me worked, gossiped and took lunch breaks, doing things that once made me human, things I could never participate in again, as I lived like a devil, could I endure endless suffering? shadow? Would I be able to live with myself in the bardo between life and death, torn between what I was and the boundless expanse of an immortal future?

Yes bro. absolutely There is no question in my mind I could hack it. The casket? No problem. A slice of the human pie. blood? I mean… when I get there, I’ll get there, but otherwise? I’m ready. I’m totally ready to take the next step to death, receive the Dark Gift, and be reborn as a goddamn, badass, motherfucking vampire. Consider this test a successful run. Give it to me. I’m totally ready to live the afterlife.

Thus ended my experiment in vampirism, spending six straight hours in a casket. Not bad. I said getting up from there Casket, as dehydrated as an Arizona cacti in summer, but I emerged nonetheless. Maybe that’s why vampires have such a strong thirst. The casket isn’t just made to keep them moisture-free. Something for casket makers to think about. According to What do we do in the shadows?, every actor who has ever played a vampire on screen is actually a vampire pretending to be just a human actor. I understand this time. I actually met some of those actors. One or two people may have remembered me. It seems all I need to do to complete my transformation is find Sam Reid and ask him to make me a sampyr. I mean, vampires. A bloodsucker! You will find it. I will let you know how it works.

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