"Your guitar, it sounds so sweet and clear, but you’re not even here…it’s just the radio…"
Sitting on the step of my back door, red wine staining my lips…I’ve spent all afternoon in this bedroom. My heads been in a bit of a daze all day due to my time awake being double in the past couple days. I’m use to sleeping about 15 hours in a day and then being awake for about 9…repeat cycle. My sleeping patterns seem to be a hot topic with my peers.I don’t know why but I think it maybe offending some.
Most of my adolescents was spent asleep, it’s just better when my eyes are closed. I’ve never had insomnia, in fact it’s been quite the opposite. My mom always told me I was just like her mother, she jokes that grandma has slept away half here life. She goes on to tell me about how when her and her brothers were children they would wake up hours before Gram, dress themselves for school and make breakfast on their own. She would rise when rested…and by her 12 plus hour standards. It was usually in the late afternoon to start dinner. ”She will always be beautiful and half her age looking because she spent so much time asleep” like snow white, or sleeping beauty, lost in a dreamland, enjoying her own mind. That’s how Mom inadvertently puts it.
Well here I am, “sleep deprived” and back to school, my schedule isn’t particularly tedious this semester. I’ve just been awake for 14 hours and before noon or later. Staring at the mannequin that lives outside my door, headless and shinning under the colored light bulbs. I’m thinking about the one man that’s never judge me for this habit. Bear, he’s one of my kind, we’ve spent a couple days on end in a curtained loft, legs wrapped around one another’s, asleep. No love fooling, no talking, or eating. Like catapillers in a protective cocoon or bears hibernated for winter, we just sleep.
Our dreamy smiles snore at the buzzing world outside that we just seem to be too sleepy to face until late afternoon…or in some cases tomorrow afternoon.
It’s not a sign of depression if it’s been a trait since childhood, is it?
I find my tipsy self, at the end of North 6th in Williamsburg Brooklyn staring at the city I dreamt about as a little girl and realize how fucking magical my life is. Fairytales are based off me, I swear. When I put my two hands out I can hold all of Manhattan from here. It’s a real visual of how close I am, only one body of water away. I’ll make it soon enough.
I’m starting my junior year of college tomorrow.
I turn 23 in a couple weeks.
I feel so behind by academic standards,
but so fucking alive in every other aspect of my life.
Never been a rule follower, or a blueprint maker.
Just a wanderer, a first hand experience kind of girl.
So fuck college, fuck credits, I’ll play your fucking game Pratt…I’ll win it and then, I’ll look back and spit on it.