I stare up at the stars. Blink sleepily to the moon. The clock chimes. One. Two. Three. Three a.m. Sleep? Probably not. Sit. Think some more. Close my eyes tightly. Tick tock. Ding. Ding. Ding. Ding. No use. Five hours of laying wide awake? Boring. Sleep won't be happening tonight. Not naturally. Creep downstairs. Swallow a pill. Top it off with a benedryl. Good night.
Beep. Beep. It's six a.m. It's another day beginning. Endless cycle of school, work, lie awake. Splash cold water on my face, hold some ice under my eyes. Try to keep them from being quite so bruised and blood-shot. It's no use; they're still a deep purple. I stare at my face in the mirror. I wonder how much make-up I'll need to shroud my under-eyes today. I can't do anything about the fact that my eyes are wide and red, but I know that thicker mascara and some green eyeshadow will distract most people.
I dig through my bag, hoping to find my cover-up. Empty my bag onto the counter. Ignore the talking behind me.
"I wish you wouldn't empty your bag there. It always..."
I close my eyes, hope that the sound will go away if I wish hard enough. A hand on my shoulder, "...and are you even listening to me?" A tight nod. Focus on cover-up. Have to look nice enough for school. English presentation today. I keep digging through my stuff.
There's a sigh behind me, footsteps walking away. Low murmurs in the hall.
"Don't bother talking to her, she's in one of her moods."
"That time of the month again?" Stifled chuckles. Oh, piss off.
English next period. I found my cover-up, but it's completely empty. I can't go to English with purple eyes. My English teacher is the one person who notices students, pays attention to people. She's already called me out on the bags under my eyes a few times before. I filch some cover-up from my friend's locker. Her skin is slightly darker, but it doesn't matter. It's better than nothingno
I stare back at my reflection, hiding in the bathroom after my presentation. My left shoe was untied, my locket was open, and my mascara left a smudge on my cheek. Why even bother trying?
I need more sleep. Ten hours in four days doesn't cut it anymore. Especially since two of those hours were during math. I'll never understand that. I spend so much time awake in bed, but so little time awake in math. Sinking math grades.
I need more sleep though. That night, when the clock dings at midnight, I sneak down again. Don't wake up the rest of the house. They sleep. They're sane. Sleeping pill, wash it back with warm pop. Cream soda. My toes are freezing.
So cold in this world
They're crawling on ice
Closer they come
It's cold at night when the blankets fall off.
I get back a math test. A forelone 62%, 'See me' scrawled in red ink on the corner. Fabulous.
"I'm going to start taking you to school late if you don't get at least six hours of sleep."
"I can't miss first period." First period is Latin. Impossible to catch up on if you miss a day.
"You can't function on so little sleep!" I'm not. I know I cant.
"How about five hours?" Or just start lying about what time I went to bed.
"Six hours as a minimum. Take your sleeping pills."
I hate sleeping.
"You're failing math. But I'm not sure why because..."
I can't listen. I know why. I sleep during class and I'm too tired to do homework. Besides, who needs to use logarithms in real life? I don't know what I'll be doing later in life, but I know that I won't be a math teacher.
Maybe I'll sleep. Forever.
The teacher is looking at me blankly, waiting for a response. I have no clue what I should be saying.
"I'm sorry. I'm not applying myself as I should be. I just don't quite understand the practical application for logarithms.
Another flurry of lecturing. A hundred different reasons math is great. I can't hear a single reason though. Maybe I'll sleep. Forever.
I sit up in my bed instead. Maybe that will work better than lying awake for hours. I hug my knees to my chest, back rigid against the wall. My toes are freezing. Sleep deprivation is always cold. Rest is warm. Sleep is warm. Comforting. Maybe I don't need any comfort.
How did my life get to the point where going to sleep at 11:30 is early?
AN: So this is pretty much a story of little snippets about sleeping and insomnia. There's really not a ton of plot to this story, just musings and ideas about sleep, or things I write when I should be sleeping. Like right now :p Most everything in this story is based off of real life, specifically my life, including the horrific math anecdotes.