My best friend

Insomnia and I, we've been bosom buddies since the tender age of seven. Tied to the hip virtually ever since then, except for a brief respite last fall, when a minor case of anemia left me so exhausted that I would begin to feel sleepy by midnight. This development scared me so much (seriously, midnight? that's when I usually start making round two of dinner) that I went straight to Vaden. I didn't care much about the composition of my blood; the fact that I was falling asleep at normal hours pretty much ruptured the fundamental standards of my identity.

I'm kind of proud to be an insomniac. I still crow about the glory days of my freshman year, winter quarter, when I got roughly two hours of sleep every night during the weekday. Things took a few precarious turns when I blacked out in class a couple of times (only to wake up and have no clue where the fuck I was, to the amusement of my classmates), or when I crawled into bed one night and fell into unconsciousness so rapidly that the fire alarm that went off ten minutes thereafter failed to wake me up. Needless to say, I built up a reputation for being insane averse to sleep very quickly. When this changed at the beginning of this year, I felt the foundations of my being crumbling.

Then again, reverting back to insomnia was no fun. I seemed to have lost the ability to thrive on two hours of sleep and still get a lot out of my classes and readings. I missed being able to sleep like a normal person, so I stopped taking my iron pills in the hope that my exhaustion would come back, allowing me to frolic with my sweet, sweet sleep once more.

Looking at the time stamp on this post, you'll notice that this sure as hell ain't the case right now.