Category Archives: Sleepless Nights

School’s out. And so is my motivation.

No one knows this about me. But when I have the evening off and I retire to my room for the night, I go in with the intention of writing.

Well no. Not just anything. I go in with the intention of actually starting to write a story. What actually happens is I write a blog post, read a book, or just pass out. Instead, I want to write something cohesive. Something that makes sense. More importantly, I want to write something that I can go back to and work on over a period of time. I swear there are so many ideas, and I have no problem organizing every other area of my life except for when it comes to my own thoughts. I know, I know. This could be a problem for someone that actually wants to sit down and write a real piece with a beginning, middle, and end for no other reason than my own satisfaction. (Clearly I have issues with procrastination when it comes to this life goal.) I need a plan of action. Advice is always welcome.


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Filed under Excuses, Sleepless Nights

All I want to do is yell obsenities.

I feel like I’m not “here” right now. Does that make remotely any sense? I’m currently at my internship, but I’m so unaware of my surroundings and obsessed with my e-mails and my job applications that I forgot where I was. After about an hour of listening to music–headphones on–I decide to look up and, voila! Magazines, random novelty toys, and beauty products surround me. I am at my internship…not my bed, not my local coffee shop, not anywhere else.

I feel a little lost I guess. I’ve come to New York to begin this life, but I’ve begun an entirely different life then I had planned, and now the original life that I’m still trying to achieve has little time to become realized. Again I ask you: Does that make remotely any sense?

After speaking to a friend online earlier today, I began thinking about even more uncertain things than I had been before. This is not necessarily a bad or worrisome thing. Thinking is good. Thinking about what will happen to me next week versus this week. There is something congruently pleasant and totally sad about me hoping that perhaps next week my life will be completely different from my life this week. This week I am an unpaid intern with a bachelor’s degree who waitresses at a pizza place. Who knows what I may be next week! Most likely though…I will still be an unpaid intern with a bachelor’s degree who waitresses at a pizza place. And you know what? Maybe I should just start to accept that this is life for a while and be able to be happy with the status quo.

Some obsessive compulsive part of me is telling me that that kind of thinking would be wrong. If you’re unhappy with your situation, you change it. But never being happy with any situation is also a recipe for disaster. So where do you draw the line between being a motivated, self-starter and just always wanting more? Is it good to always want more? And perhaps the real balance to aim for is where you still always want more but can still be happy with what you have?

I’m sorry if I’ve made you think too much. But this is what goes on in my head ALL DAMN DAY. Yea, I know. One day when I’ve figured it all out, I’m going to write a self-help book; and you’re all going to buy it and read it from cover to cover. You’re going to be amazed at my “living life-skills.” Just you wait.

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Filed under Excuses, New York City, Sleepless Nights, The Career

I stare because I hate your shoes, and I’m sorry.

OK, so I think I might have a staring problem. Something tells me that I probably got this weird disorder from my mother, who has been known to stare. That’s another story for another time though. Moving on:

I’ve been thinking about this for a while, and I’m pretty sure that my staring problem increases when I’m riding the subway alone. It’s like my eyes don’t know where to look! When someone is riding the subway with you, you look at them and have a conversation. However, when I’m by myself, I just sit there with my little iPod and gawk at those around me. I don’t even necessarily stare at people I think are attractive. Most of the time its the people with a twitching problem or ugly shoes on that leave me mesmerized for seconds at a time. Then I get paranoid though because I don’t want those people to know I’m having trouble averting my glare from them–so I look away. But you know what? Ten seconds later, my eyes are right back on those twitchers and Teva-wearing passengers. It’s a disease, and I think I might just get my ass kicked for it one day.

A simple solution to this problem to anyone other than me would be to bring a book or magazine along for the ride. I have, in fact tried this before. Nonetheless, I look up and glance around me, then come back down to the book. I read a couple sentences, and I look up again! Am I alone in being a lone starer? Please say it isn’t so.

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Filed under Excuses, Sleepless Nights

It should be no surprise that this would happen to me.

Last night was the second in a row now where I have been up for no good reason until 3:30AM. What is tragic about this, besides the fact that I look like live I’ve aged thirty years from lack of sleep today, is the swift and heavy fall I took at 2AM. I was getting up from the couch to refill on water when my left leg decided to not do its job of holding me upright (naturally). I tumbled to the ground, but not without colliding into the corner of the coffee table first. A bruise on my abdomen and a skinned elbow are but a couple of souveneirs I received from my unexpected trip to the hard ground below.

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A girl home alone. A romance. A recipe for contemplation.

Ah, yes. After an extremely tedious and tiring day, what better way to enjoy a quiet evening at home than by watching Under the Tuscan Sun, featuring Diane Lane? It’s amazing how happy this movie makes me. I laugh. I cry. I think, yes! Someday I will move to Italy and find happiness, love, and write the next great novel! I will stroll through the villages of Tuscany and find an amazing mansion for a reasonable price. Sure, there will be hard times. But I’ll look so good doing it all–in fact, I’ll buy a blow-dryer and do my hair. Then all the Italian men will come a runnin’!

I am a such a sucker for a good romance/coming-of-age tale. But it got me wondering…how realistic are any of these romances? Do children in Italy really run around throwing rose petals at people, as opposed to the sticks and stones American kids manage to hurl? It’s a little unsettling.

Josephine Cox, a popular British author, brings up an interesting point: Love stories may be instilling some unrealistic expectations in many of us. Here are some key arguments she poses in an article from The Daily Mail:

1) Generally, all the main characters of a love story are really good-looking. (Not the case in real life.)

2) Often enough, it’s love at first site. (For those who say they’ve never noticed someone on the metro and thought–if even for just a second–that this could be the one, you’re lying. And probably no fun at all.)

3) If it’s not love at first site, it’s a childhood friendship that has developed into much, much more.

4) The stories end when the two characters end up happily together. Forget the baby diapers, cottage cheese thighs, and “first gray hairs” that come later.

Still, at the end of all this I say that storytelling is just storytelling. If novels and films were about how Paul and Lauren met their sophomore year of college and got married after graduation, I would cry giant tears of boredom.

Under the Tuscan Sun probably made me think a little too much. But I am considering a future as a divorcee who decides to start over in Europe…I just hope I have Diane Lane’s waistline.


Filed under Guilty Pleasures, Love, Sleepless Nights

Textbook smart. Internet saavy. Technologically…special.

Today I learned about technology and information. Particularly, about the storage of information. The hugely, gross number referring to precisely how much information produced each year is roughly 5,426,903 terabytes. That probably doesn’t mean anything to you, but it’s a lot. And to borrow from my professor’s notes: if someone were to read one book every week from the Library of Congress, it would take them 365, 385 years to read every one, which…unless they’re drinking from the magical fountain of youth, is just not going to happen. So then I think about these numbers, and the amount of information available, and how little I truly know. And yea, I’m taking philosophy; so I’m really considering the whole idea of a life filled with contemplation and knowledge and virtue…and all that other stuff. Thank you Aristotle. And my pee-wee brain is going, “Don’t you just want to go check out what’s new on, instead of reading Theories of Intrastate and Interstate War?” Well, yea. I do.

So now I’m chewing over a life of pleasure versus a life of knowledge. Which I’ve been told, is just excessive. I’m still a good person. I still care about the world. I’m still going to read Concepts of Peace and Violence. It’s just that I’m going to take a break every ten or so pages and update myself on where Anna Wintour was just seen, why Ben Affleck looks like he’s wearing blush, and how journalist, Jody Paterson quit her job to become-gasp!-a madam at a co-op brothel (thank you, thank you Jezebel).

Bottom line: I have senioritis (also, Wikipedia…you’re not so bad yourself). It’s not fatal, but it is making my attention span sort of equivalent to that of a particular, skinny, female celebrity on speed. So as I take down a spoonful of sugar, here’s to hoping it passes!

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Filed under DC, Guilty Pleasures, Sleepless Nights

Good news: I’m still alive.

I have trouble falling asleep at home. If I think long and hard about why this happens to me, I come to the conclusion that it is most likely due to a lack of wearing myself out. Last night I decided I was sick of staying up until 4AM, watching bad television and surfing the Internet for celebrity gossip. So I did what any normal person would have done in my situation, I took a shot of Nyquil.

Because Nyquil is supposed to relieve fever, flu symptoms, headaches, etc., and I was feeling none of the aforementioned ailments, it left me with a strange (OK, high) feeling. I’m not sure why exactly this happened, but my lack of medicinal knowledge leads me to believe that the drug had nowhere else to go but directly to my head. Sure enough, within the half-hour it had done it’s magic, and I was happily asleep.

Today is a different story. I’m not entirely certain whether I should even be blaming this on what could be an innocent over-the-counter medicine, but my whole body felt tragically frail. It took effort to get myself out of bed, brush my teeth; even deciding what to wear felt as tedious as sitting down to take the SATs.

Eventually though, I managed to drive myself to a morning yoga class. How I got through this hour-long endeavor, I’ll never know. I felt as though the other women present, many in their 50s and 60s, looked at me as though I was the “young unruly-type”. (Meaning, I looked like I got-drunk-and-had-a- really-good-time-the-night-before-and-somehow-still-managed-to-pull-my- ass-out-of-bed-and-make-it-to-yoga-class, “young unruly-type.”) Anyone who actually knows me however, is aware that unless my schedule is completely open the next day, I tend to steer clear of the courage juice.

Upon coming home from the said class and practically crawling up the stairway to reach my room, I made it to the bed. That’s right, at twelve in the afternoon I was ready to go to sleep again. What’s wrong with me, I thought as I began to drift off. Luckily, my thoughts stopped then and there as I passed out until three-o-clock. In hindsight, I’m not sure I should have been operating my car earlier that morning; as it is what many warning labels refer to as “heavy machinery” and hence, something to be avoided.

To make a long, and unnecessary story short, the 30 milliliters of Nyquil I consumed kept me in a comatose state for over thirteen hours. As proof that I have learned my lesson in regards to abusing such substances, you have this blog post that I have completed writing at 2AM. I am wide awake and remain seated on my bed plotting the next task to accomplish that will hopefully induce heavy eyelids and eventually REM while the Nyquil bottle sits untouched a mere fifteen feet away.

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Filed under Cleveland, Sleepless Nights