My Sleeping Schedule:
Summer has come to an end. After two glorious months of cold coffee drinks, wakeboarding, summer camp, flip-flops and the inevitable America's Next Top Model-marathon's on Sundays, I must return to furthering my education and enriching my young mind. Gag me.
Inevitably, the night before school begins all traces of Tylenol PM throughout the world have been stowed away into some underground lair guarded by evil spirits and giant hamsters. I lay in bed for hours, tossing and turning, looking at the clock, counting sheep, losing track of which number I am on, looking at the clock again, wondering what to wear in the morning, counting sheep, losing track, going to the bathroom, mulling over past social issues, contemplating the meaning of life, trying to write a poem in my head, counting sheep, losing track and overall completely regretting having abided so well by the infamous orders of Yellow Card to sleep all day and stay up all ni-ight.
In the morning the lack of sleep does not phase me. I am ecstatic, for reasons that by the third day of school I will not understand. Being the social-ninja that I am, I hop from group to group, catching up on the events of the summer. Mostly information that I don't quite care about quite enough to really pay attention, but is mildly entertaining enough to hear for several minutes.
By three I am beat. The sheer amount of drama I have taken in is enough to last me the rest of the year. I collapse onto the couch when I get home, contemplate doing homework, and fall asleep trying to decide. When I open my eyes again it is past eleven o'clock. I make myself a good-old gourmet quesedilla and finish my homework. Once again I lay in bed and count sheep, lose track, consider making Deviled eggs, wonder what I want to do with my life, contemplate possible Facebook-statuses, give a go at counting sheep again, lose track, look at the clock, try and develop plots for a dream I wish I would have, mourn the holocaust, think of places my mother may have left spare change, count sheep, lose track and so on.
By day-two the excitement has worn-off. I roam around the school aimlessly, not fully aware of who I am or where I am going. While imagining this, one should picture a cross between a sleep-deprived teenager and a Zombie...only much, much worse. If I am lucky I only run into walls and doors, as opposed to live beings or sharp objects. (Which in my opinion, shouldn't be in a school anyway.) When school finally ends I crash on the couch. This time I do not have time to contemplate homework as I am asleep before I lay down.
Repeat the events of last night, only with less attempts to count sheep and more evaluating ways I can sabotage the tooth fairy for only giving me fifty cents a tooth when she gave Brittani five dollars.
The following weeks continue as such, undoubtedly. In a desperate attempt to stay awake throughout the day I purchase four 5-hour energy's at the gas station on my way to school. Chugging two of them at once, I feel a surge of power flowing through my brains. I am here. I am a champion. I am alive!
This is a mistake.
"Hey... are you okay?"
“What?Yeah,I’mfineI’msoexcitedforthebachelortonightIlikeJennashehasasparklydressshe’sblack.”
This vicious cycle continues, decreasing at the rate of a glacier, until finally by late October I have conformed to some sort of a regular sleeping schedule. I have tapered off the five-hour energy, and proudly post a Facebook status proclaiming myself 3-Weeks sober.
It is at this precise point that the pilgrims decide it is a good idea to have a whole week off for one meal.
Commence sleeping all day staying up all ni-ight.
Summer has come to an end. After two glorious months of cold coffee drinks, wakeboarding, summer camp, flip-flops and the inevitable America's Next Top Model-marathon's on Sundays, I must return to furthering my education and enriching my young mind. Gag me.
Inevitably, the night before school begins all traces of Tylenol PM throughout the world have been stowed away into some underground lair guarded by evil spirits and giant hamsters. I lay in bed for hours, tossing and turning, looking at the clock, counting sheep, losing track of which number I am on, looking at the clock again, wondering what to wear in the morning, counting sheep, losing track, going to the bathroom, mulling over past social issues, contemplating the meaning of life, trying to write a poem in my head, counting sheep, losing track and overall completely regretting having abided so well by the infamous orders of Yellow Card to sleep all day and stay up all ni-ight.
In the morning the lack of sleep does not phase me. I am ecstatic, for reasons that by the third day of school I will not understand. Being the social-ninja that I am, I hop from group to group, catching up on the events of the summer. Mostly information that I don't quite care about quite enough to really pay attention, but is mildly entertaining enough to hear for several minutes.
By three I am beat. The sheer amount of drama I have taken in is enough to last me the rest of the year. I collapse onto the couch when I get home, contemplate doing homework, and fall asleep trying to decide. When I open my eyes again it is past eleven o'clock. I make myself a good-old gourmet quesedilla and finish my homework. Once again I lay in bed and count sheep, lose track, consider making Deviled eggs, wonder what I want to do with my life, contemplate possible Facebook-statuses, give a go at counting sheep again, lose track, look at the clock, try and develop plots for a dream I wish I would have, mourn the holocaust, think of places my mother may have left spare change, count sheep, lose track and so on.
By day-two the excitement has worn-off. I roam around the school aimlessly, not fully aware of who I am or where I am going. While imagining this, one should picture a cross between a sleep-deprived teenager and a Zombie...only much, much worse. If I am lucky I only run into walls and doors, as opposed to live beings or sharp objects. (Which in my opinion, shouldn't be in a school anyway.) When school finally ends I crash on the couch. This time I do not have time to contemplate homework as I am asleep before I lay down.
Repeat the events of last night, only with less attempts to count sheep and more evaluating ways I can sabotage the tooth fairy for only giving me fifty cents a tooth when she gave Brittani five dollars.
The following weeks continue as such, undoubtedly. In a desperate attempt to stay awake throughout the day I purchase four 5-hour energy's at the gas station on my way to school. Chugging two of them at once, I feel a surge of power flowing through my brains. I am here. I am a champion. I am alive!
This is a mistake.
"Hey... are you okay?"
“What?Yeah,I’mfineI’msoexcitedforthebachelortonightIlikeJennashehasasparklydressshe’sblack.”
This vicious cycle continues, decreasing at the rate of a glacier, until finally by late October I have conformed to some sort of a regular sleeping schedule. I have tapered off the five-hour energy, and proudly post a Facebook status proclaiming myself 3-Weeks sober.
It is at this precise point that the pilgrims decide it is a good idea to have a whole week off for one meal.
Commence sleeping all day staying up all ni-ight.
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