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cold asleep November 21. 2000 |
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more pictures from the weekend:
me, taken by John *
another one taken by John *
23rd and Ely (E and F trains) * |
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I feel like I've been walking through molasses these past few days. I haven't been getting much sleep lately. Three consecutive days of not sleeping well or not sleeping enough have taken their toll on me. I can usually do three days of five hours a night, but after that, I start dragging, start tripping over things, start being more clumsy than I usually am. When I was younger, I would lay in bed and ache, just ache, to have someone there with me. Just to have a warm body to hold and snuggle up to. But now, I've discovered that whenever I visit John, I don't sleep well. I'm not used to having someone else sleeping beside me and shifting and hogging the covers (actually, that's mostly me). Plus John snores, but I really can't complain about that, because he says I snore too (something I'm acutely embarrassed about). I have really odd, fragmented dreams that, when I wake up, leaves me wondering if they were real or not. I usually end up sitting up in bed, leaning against the wall, watching him sleep. Sometimes I get up and get a pepsi from the fridge and sit in the living room. Such is the inconsistency of my insomnia. I sleep well at home. Usually by the time I crawl into my bed I'm so tired I don't even have a choice in the matter. This summer, I would lie in bed for hours, watching the red numbers slowly tick away on my clock, but now I rarely have time to contemplate anything before I drift off, only to be woken by the same alarm that has woken me since junior high, and to groggily sit up like I did in junior high and wonder how 5 hours passed so quickly. Sometimes when I was little I wondered, if I close my eyes, and fall asleep, will I wake up? Some days I almost would have preferred just to stay up and not succumb to sleep, which scared me in an odd way. Almost like losing control, giving into a natural impulse with no idea where it will lead you. I still get scared about that, sometimes. * It's been a cold couple of days. The heat has not yet kicked in in my apartment. I haven't been spending much time in my apartment as of late (I've been at Tyler or B&N nearly every day and night), but when I'm there, I'm in one of two places - in front of the computer, wrapped in a ton of blankets, or in bed, huddled under a tons of blankets. I usually welcome the cold weather. I love it. But this season, I feel paralyzed by the cold rather than invigorated by it. I feel deadened and stiff. All I want to do is curl up in bed and not get up. I've felt so tired, so defeated, this semester. I teeter between being amazed by the incredible gift of my life and being overwhelmed and pissed off that I have so much to do. I can't even articulate how hard I'm working, and how dissatisfied with the results I am. I don't feel articulate at all, come to think of it. I want this text to be a fluid recording of my thoughts, overflowing with smooth prose and detailed descriptions of the world around me. I just keep falling into generalization and thus, boringness. I feel general, unspecific, and unspecial. One Year Ago: all writings, (c) 1999-2000, BRR |
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