Who Needs Sleep When Life is a Dream?
My love for life is unequivocal & unwavering, & when you love something, you never want to say goodbye. Each time I close my eyes, the whole world I hold so dearly gets left behind. I try to avoid doing such. How does my sleep schedule feel about this? Not the best, but there's balance. imbalance. I get just enough shut-eye to survive, but coffee is what makes me thrive. Is my heart still churning, my veins still surging with blood- or is it just coffee? One shot, two shot, three shots of espresso. How much to get me to the end of the day? A Wawa run in the A.M., matcha. A convoy to Sadler Lunch, French vanilla. Swemroma mocha before Boswell, and a Daily Grind chai after class if I'm feeling frisky. I picked my poison.
Late September, I tried to quit caffeine. My habits were unhealthy from a physical standpoint, but I was also rather conscious that ISC Starbucks was the perpetrator behind my dining dollar deficiency. It had been decided. I was NOT a coffee drinker. What I was, was a bonehead who sought no further action to compensate for sleep deprivation. It was then and there that in a decaffeinated rage, I plummeted graciously down the Boswell stairs and sprained my ankle. Perhaps I could've successfully quit caffeine had I just gone to bed earlier, had I incorporated naps into my routine, had I not spend every waking hour being the resident second-floor swem-gremlin. It was constant mental exertion, followed by physical rigor, then more mental then more physical then more mental with very, very, sparse breaks. Why was it always "do"? Why couldn't I just "be"? I wanted to be superman. I wanted to do everything. Why did I have to one-up myself? Always? I knew it was unsustainable and maybe even selfish by sacrificing my brain and body, the very things responsible for maintaining life in an ill-attempt to give my personal life more meaning. My humanity? I was a zombie. Purple eyebags, sickened complexion, sleepwalking across campus. William & Mary without sleep is skydiving without a parachute, landing a plane without knowing how to ride a bicycle. Driving like you're from Virginia.
Life is fruitful, but it is not a dream. Go to bed.
My love for life is unequivocal & unwavering, & when you love something, you never want to say goodbye. Each time I close my eyes, the whole world I hold so dearly gets left behind. I try to avoid doing such. How does my sleep schedule feel about this? Not the best, but there's balance. imbalance. I get just enough shut-eye to survive, but coffee is what makes me thrive. Is my heart still churning, my veins still surging with blood- or is it just coffee? One shot, two shot, three shots of espresso. How much to get me to the end of the day? A Wawa run in the A.M., matcha. A convoy to Sadler Lunch, French vanilla. Swemroma mocha before Boswell, and a Daily Grind chai after class if I'm feeling frisky. I picked my poison.
Late September, I tried to quit caffeine. My habits were unhealthy from a physical standpoint, but I was also rather conscious that ISC Starbucks was the perpetrator behind my dining dollar deficiency. It had been decided. I was NOT a coffee drinker. What I was, was a bonehead who sought no further action to compensate for sleep deprivation. It was then and there that in a decaffeinated rage, I plummeted graciously down the Boswell stairs and sprained my ankle. Perhaps I could've successfully quit caffeine had I just gone to bed earlier, had I incorporated naps into my routine, had I not spend every waking hour being the resident second-floor swem-gremlin. It was constant mental exertion, followed by physical rigor, then more mental then more physical then more mental with very, very, sparse breaks. Why was it always "do"? Why couldn't I just "be"? I wanted to be superman. I wanted to do everything. Why did I have to one-up myself? Always? I knew it was unsustainable and maybe even selfish by sacrificing my brain and body, the very things responsible for maintaining life in an ill-attempt to give my personal life more meaning. My humanity? I was a zombie. Purple eyebags, sickened complexion, sleepwalking across campus. William & Mary without sleep is skydiving without a parachute, landing a plane without knowing how to ride a bicycle. Driving like you're from Virginia.
Life is fruitful, but it is not a dream. Go to bed.