Woes of the Perpetually Nocturnal

I hate sleeping. Or at least I hate that I need sleep. When I was younger, it was the saddest thing, being tucked into bed and knowing that the day’s adventures (or lack thereof) were ending. My bedtime was like a looming deadline, hanging over my head and filling me with anxiety about missing out on the magical things that happen late at night after little children go to sleep. Like one time, my mom let me stay up and watch Dogma with her. I was barely 7, but I still remember parts of the movie vividly: angels and explosions and profuse amounts of profanities. But that’s what I mean. If I hadn’t been awake that night, I may never have been able to watch that movie, and I count that among one of my more valuable experiences because I’m pretty sure it planted the seed that blossomed into my admiration (…obsession) for Matt Damon.

My attitude is pretty similar today, except I actually feel tiredness now. But no matter how much I need or want sleep, if I feel like my day hasn’t been satisfying-it’s been boring or disappointing or stressful-then I’ll stay up in the hopes that something will come about to round it out nicely. Even if all I’m doing is watching reruns of British T.V. shows on Netflix, I won’t sleep until I feel like I’ve gotten something out of the day.

And then, I hate napping for the same reasons that I hated going to sleep when I was younger. I don’t want to miss out on anything. While I intellectually understand that sleep gives me energy and functionality, the 7-year-old in me doesn’t think that sleep gives me anything; it only takes away more time that I can be living life. Time already goes by so fast, and I hate to think that so much of it flies away with my dreams at night.

And dreams are just a small consolation, because I only have vivid ones in the last hour before I wake up anyway, and my dreams are not the magical ones that create a place I want to revisit. They’re weird as hell. Like one time I dreamt that a giant storm came and wiped out everything, but then it turned out it was only people in China watching a Youtube video about a storm, and when they paused it the storm stopped. Seriously, what?

My subconscious does a bad job of making sleep attractive.

Still, at the end of the day, there I lay on the couch or on the floor, feeling the need to go to bed and hating myself for it. The only time I ever really want to sleep is in the morning when I’m supposed to wake up. Because at that point I’ve already succumbed to the temptress that is slumber, so why leave her clutches now? It’s so warm, and as soon as I leave her, I’ll begin the whole cycle of avoiding her again. Ugh. It sounds like a cheap love story.

But I guess I’ll talk more about this later, because I am honestly falling asleep right now. 

UC Berkeley in 6 hours

There’s no denying it; we’re growing up, and we’re doing it fast. The thing about growing up is that the more I do it, the more I see the value in the things I did when I was younger. What I’m really saying is that it doesn’t take much for me to want to act like a kid.

So, I’m almost 20, and I still want to excitedly share what my first day of school was like with my parents. I’m doing that on here because I know they read it and because I am the worst person to talk to on the phone (it’s like phone earpieces turn off the part of my brain that can hold a decent conversation). But I also think that this is a part of growing up too: expanding the world in which you share things.

Here we go:  

It’s 11:07, I pull open the door to my first class, Peace Theories, and of course I’m one of the last people there. For once, though, the collective and penetrating glare of the 40+ people already there didn’t bother me as I maneuvered my way to the awkwardly-open seat in the middle of the room, successful in my attempt to not booty-bump someone’s face on the way. The professor walks in, and I decide that I like him. I don’t know why, but I do.  

My second class, Islam in India, is literally four classrooms away, so I end up being one of the first ones there this time. Not gonna deny that I’m proud. This professor walks in, understated but magnificently dignified, and starts speaking with a voice that compels you to absorb everything it says about the significance of South Asia for Islam as a whole, and the way that plays out in practice. And there are only 17 students to the one professor. This is the kind of class Cal should use to advertise with.

He lets us out with enough time for me to run to this crazy coffee shop where there are like 15 people behind the counter, no one speaks below a shout, and your food is ready in an unbelievably short amount of time. So again, I’m one of the last to walk into my third class (Conflict Resolution ), brushing pieces of lettuce off my shirt. Within the first few minutes, this professor happens to smash her hand in the window. She handled it gracefully, and all she broke was the ice. And everything she did after that was really endearing.

My fourth and final class of the day, Drugs and the Brain, is also the largest. We sit down in Wheeler Auditorium, and the music video for Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds by The Beatles starts playing. If you haven’t seen this video on a big screen before, let me tell you, it’s an experience. But really, so is this class.  

It was warm and stuffy, and all I could think about was how much it felt like I was in my mom’s womb (because I totally remember what that feels like). I was pretty tired at this point, but the professor was really interesting. So my mind was engaged and alert, but my body was drowsy. Like if I was on drugs. Cheers for teaching through simulation, Professor. 

Our textbooks read like I’m sure potions textbooks do at Hogwarts, with all the ancient Greek and Latin names of plants. One of them even has the subtitle “Stimulating Plants, Potions and Herbcraft.” If you ask me who teaches this class, my answer will be Professor Snape. Always.

I sat through 6 straight hours of class today, and I can still say it’s great to be back on campus. Thank you for being so good to me Berkeley.

Damn. Reading back over through all the details, I don’t know how my parents put up with me.