it's all over now, baby blue.

I know – I haven’t been writing much. There are reasons. They don’t really matter. If you could see my apartment right now, you would see that there is a lot that I’ve been neglecting. There’s some guacamole in my fridge I don’t remember making. I think it’s guacamole; I can’t be sure.

My life could use some upkeep, it’s true.

School, I’ve found, has become something that I do between naps. And by nap I mean coma. I actually schedule my life this way – as actors may ask of their character, what’s my motivation? What gets you up in the morning? For me, it is the knowledge that I can be back in bed by 2:15pm, sleep for an hour-and-a-half catch the streetcar, make it back to campus for my 4:40 and be back in bed by 6:45 if I hit my timing right. I could probably write this all off as being “depressed” or “heartbroken” possibly “lazy.” But I’d probably be lying. I’m sort of always like this. Bouldering? Oh, I’d love to, but it interferes with my sleep schedule.

This could be kind of a problem.

When I say I have insomnia, that isn’t really accurate. I sleep more than most people, just at odd times of the day and in weird increments. I’ve tried to right this. Oh, I’ve tried.

I feel as if I’ve slept through much of my college career. But I’ve never actually dozed off in class – I saw a girl actually do this once. I’ve seen a number of people fall asleep on the subway, actually fall off their seats. A narcoleptic’s life must be fairly miserable. If not fairly amusing to others. I suppose I should be grateful.

My doctor seems convinced that once I’ve found stability in my life, in my schedule, that proper sleep will simply follow. I nodded, but I think she missed the dubious expression on my face. I should probably have mentioned that it’s been an issue since I was a little girl. I used to turn over on each side a certain number of times, rub my feet together twice, re-cross, rub twice more, repeat. Inhale, exhale. Every night. If I wasn’t out within half an hour, I’d creep towards the pitch black hallway and peer down it. Blackness, but for the glowing red light of the stereo down the hall. It took me what seemed like hours to work up the courage to cross the three feet to my parents’ room. I’d hover over my mother’s side of the bed, waiting.

I think I used to scare the crap out of her. It’s a good thing she didn’t take Ambien; she’d have probably whacked me with her pillow till its feathers filled the air.