At 4:03am I stopped caring. I got off my bed and continued not caring on the floor while facing the moon through my window. When you've been up for as long as I have, time no longer seems to make sense (if it ever did). I know that at some point, the moon will fall and the sun will rise and the incessant chirping of birds will replace the inebriated guffaws of college frat boys trying to impress other college frat boys with antics that, in the morning, will be buried under the throbbing pain of well-deserved hangovers. Soon, alarm clocks will ring across the campus and I will hear a good lot of them and I will want to smash them to smithereens or something even smaller than that. I don't own an alarm clock—they're for sleeping people and I'm not a sleeper though sometimes I wish I were.
I don't know when I stopped sleeping but I do know when I started feeling numb. It was when I had the epiphany that everything was pointless and that came after I realized that I was never going to graduate college if I didn't stop procrastinating but that was never going to happen. It's a miracle I even got into college, I think.
My friends think I stay up because I drink coffee at night but I've been drinking coffee at night for as long as I can remember so I should have some sort of tolerance by now and yet, I'm still awake. I wouldn't say I'm wide-awake because my eyelids are droopy and my chest feels heavy with days' worth of exhaustion but I am, indeed, awake.
My roommate snores boisterously—maybe that's what's keeping me up. Or maybe it's the low but constant hum of the air conditioner or the faucet that's dripping across the hall in the communal kitchen area. Just kidding, my inability to sleep doesn't really sharpen my hearing at all. I'm just extra imaginative when I'm exhausted. I should be a writer: readers love other people's imagination and then using their own imagination to create scenes and stories but they absolutely dislike it when their imagination isn't what appears onscreen in movies.
People can be so fickle and hypocritical. But I'm not going to go further into that. Just because I can't sleep certainly doesn't give me an excuse to become existential and question the inner workings of society, politics and media. But, you have to admit that TV journalists suck nowadays.
My doctor suggested I try yoga to calm down and maybe then I will be able to mute the thoughts that forbid me any rest. Even if his chiseled jaw turns me into a walking cliché where my knees go weak and my heart swoons at his un-geeky, muscular arms, he's oh-so-very wrong. I don't need to "calm down." I just need sleep. He should have prescribed me sleeping drug because the ones at the Neighborhood Wal-Mart don't work very well. From, Nytol to Compoz, I have exhausted all the over-the-counter options.
Sleep is overrated, anyway. The other night, I contemplated going on a night walk but I didn't want to risk getting attacked so I stayed inside. With all this time on my hands, I could maybe get A's in my classes but even in the dead of night, I can't bring myself to study a single book.
Instead, I sit on the floor staring at the moon through my window while I bite my nails down to the quick because I can't find my nail cutter and I think my roommate stole it. I continue not caring at 4:04am.