Apparently, I’m waging a war on sleep. For the past two nights, I’ve been suffering from an awful case of insomnia that no amount of milk and cookies can cure. Night after night, I have lain in my bed counting the spidery cracks in the ceiling and unsuccessfully trying to ignore the deafening clanks coming from the heater. The sound of dumpster trucks in the alley behind my building has become the bane of my existence. As a result, the past couple days have been spent sleepwalking. Most of my notebooks have now been drooled on. I’m so cute.
It all began with a nap — a sweet, glorious nap on a Monday evening. My group meeting had wrapped up early, so I headed back to my pimp palace single with lots on my agenda. I had many items on my to-do list: apply for internships, wash my hair, teach myself to macrame, look into purchasing Kanye West tickets, catch up on a semester’s worth of reading and more. I immediately plopped down at my desk and turned on my laptop. I checked email, Friendster, Myspace, Flickr, Webshots, HotorNot, J-date, Perez, Ohnotheydidn’t, LastFM, Collegehumor and CNN. I thought I’d redeem myself with that last one. The images all began to blur and everything went black.
Suddenly, I came to and realized that I had blacked out. What just happened? In front of me was a photo of Becky, a girl I had gone to high school with, dressed in a Clifford the Dog costume and jumping rope in a dirty alley. I looked at the clock. Did I really just surf Facebook for two hours? I clicked on a tab that said E-bay. Apparently, I had also bid on the remains of David Hasselhoff’s half-eaten cheeseburger and Hannah Montana’s old front teeth. Slightly disturbed but secretly excited about my E-bay shenanigans, I stepped away from the computer.
With so much free time left in the day, I decided to try that whole productivity thing and do some reading. I plopped down on my bed, ready to devour a delicious textbook about media law and ethics.
“Welcome to media law and ethics,” or something like that.
This isn’t so bad! I was really proud of myself for being productive. I continued to read.
Somewhere in between slander and libel, my elbow grazed a pillow and I began to wonder how something could ever be so soft. It was as if the gods had blessed my linens. I began to sink into my mattress pad, placing my cheek on the lusciousness that is my comforter. Oh, the comfort! I chucked my textbook across the room and crawled under the covers. Enter, sandman.
It was 12 a.m. when I awoke in a panic. I realized the time, and my heart swelled with dread. Way to go, Isis. It was obvious that I wouldn’t be going to bed at a reasonable hour that night. For the next four hours or so I did my homework, bug-eyed and disturbingly awake.
I bitterly set my alarm for 7 a.m. and sunk into my heavenly sheets once more. Alas, the cousin of death refused to grace me with its presence that night and I lay in bed staring at the clock.
Come Tuesday, I had joined the army of the living dead. I meandered from class to class that day, blankly staring ahead and with the comprehension level of a strung-out Britney Spears. Finally, the day ended. I stumbled into my room, crumpled onto my twin, extra-long bed and immediately fell asleep.
My mattress was alive. It was quaking under me.
“What is going on?” I drowsily wondered.
My cell phone had woken me up. It was my friend, proposing a trip to 7-Eleven via text message. I glanced at the clock, it was 1 a.m. No, it couldn’t be. How could I have let this happen to me again?! I dragged myself out of bed and trudged to 7-Eleven. I purchased some chamomile tea in hopes of sleeping that night.
After brewing the tea, I turned on the television, bracing myself for late-night programming. Immediately, a neon-clad Will Smith appeared on the screen — Fresh Prince, nice. Keeping the channel number in mind, I began to flip through show after show. Golden Girls — Home Improvement — Comedy Central’s Roast of Flavor Flav — Roseanne — Infomercials. Bingo!
Infomercials are your friend. Whether it’s that guy with the long blond perm in a ponytail hawking the “Gazelle,” an exercise machine guaranteed to elongate your stride, or QVC presenters falling off ladders, infomercials are the pinnacle of nighttime programming. It’s like SkyMall on TV. What more could a bored, insomniac ask for?
Three hours later, my credit card had done some damage. A sweet little grandma suckered me into buying the “Bacon Wave,” a specially designed bacon holder guaranteed to make it healthier and crispier. I don’t even make bacon. In a few days time I’ll also be the proud owner of a “Slanket,” a large soft blanket with sleeves. Wow, insomnia can really have its payoffs. I’m really excited to eat my pigs-in-a-slanket.
The next day, I fell down the Tsai steps, failed a quiz, drooled all over an attendance sheet and almost got hit by the T. I’m never taking a nap again.
Isis Madrid, a junior in the College of Communication, is a weekly columnist for The Daily Free Press. She can be reached at [email protected].