I need a nap. A vacation. A hug. My brain is fried. I'm a lot like the egg in those old anti-drug ads they used to show during Saturday morning cartoons. Those commercials didn't turn me off to drugs as much as they made me hungry. In fact, they kind of made me associate drugs with delicious fried eggs.
Maybe I just wasn't so bright.
These are the things one thinks about after staring at a laptop for four hours trying to devise a thesis on the Polemical Hermeneutics of Western Russofied European Maltese Cats. Who needs drugs?
One or two mocha frappuccinos go a long way to keep you going all night. Add some Ritz crackers and peanut butter and it feels almost as good as eight hours of uninterrupted, unadulterated sleep. So much for my "Stop Destroying your Body in '04" campaign -- well, we all knew from the start it was about as futile as a ticket with John Kerry's name on it.
Unfortunately, I can't stop myself. I think I might actually be addicted to sleep deprivation. All that dopamine and serotonin flooding my brain. Man, it really frees your mind, man. Makes you see things, I don't know. Clear? Like the fish are floating on the walls man. And they're saying "Maltese cats can't be Russofied no matter what brand of kitty litter you use."
My mother calls and asks if I am taking care of myself.
"Of course I am. Eating right, working out, doing my work ..."
"Sleeping enough?"
"Yeah, sure. Hey have I mentioned recently that I love you?"
Last night I was awake until five o'clock in the morning for the fourth time in eight days. My mother wakes up at five o'clock in the morning. Every time I stay up that late, I wait for the two members of the crew team in my suite to emerge from their room so I can say, "Gee boys, what are you doing up so late? Don't you have practice?" They never find it as funny as I do.
Still chuckling, I crawl under the covers and set my alarm for something like 10 a.m., placing the clock radio on the floor next to my bed where the snooze button is safely out of reach.
And then I try to fall asleep.
In theory, I should hit the pillow and fall into a coma. Five o'clock is the hour when the world is just beginning to stir. As a member of the previous day, I have no business remaining awake. I should be dreaming about magic carpet rides and fields of sunflowers. Instead, I lie there staring at the ceiling, listening to my roommate snoring. Five o'clock in the morning is a lonely time. I think about home, the future, the nature of the universe, the physical properties of Cheez Wiz. It's very emotional and very confusing. My senses are heightened. I discover the existence of questions previously unasked in the history of mankind.
"Would God still be omnipotent if his name was Walter?"
"If the world were made of peanut butter, would it be creamy or chunky?"
And so on.
It's as if in the silence of the late night/early morning, my brain won't let me shut down until I let it wander a around little. It reminds me of taking my dog out to pee before she turns around three times and falls into her bed.
At last I fall asleep.
Four seconds later I find myself running out the door with my fly open, wearing one shoe. Stupid, sentimental brain. Why won't it just let me fall asleep when I want to?
You may argue that I am only torturing myself. Maybe if I got my work done ahead of time, or perhaps wasted less time complaining about my lack of sleep or watching The Batchelorette and Couples Fear Factor, I wouldn't have to ponder the nature of the cosmos at 5 a.m.
You bring up good points. Good, logical points.
However, between hallucinating in the wee hours of the morning, and missing the chance to see women in bikinis dive into a pool of cow intestines to win a 2005 Jeep Wrangler, I think the choice is clear.
I was thinking the other night at 3:37:28 that there should be a club at U.Va. for people who stay awake past four o'clock on a regular basis. We could all sit in a circle and hallucinate and listen to Hendrix. It would be exactly like the sixties, except with a lot less free love and a lot more concern about the depreciation of the dollar against the Euro.
Yeah, I'm pretty sure this is going to be my last column.
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