Night Life

Today was the first day a teacher called me out on sleeping in class. I haven't felt so racked with guilt for a long time... so I went back later and apologized. In stats and physics and art history, I can always manage to laugh it off with several gulps of coffee and a reassuring look of squinting, dried eyes, yet to this hour, I still feel horrible for the disrespect I showed.

On the other hand, Watson is the most attractive 5'6" actor in the world. I think he's made me a fangirl. My quads, he's so cool. He's not afraid of the war... he misses it.

I finished my early action apps. My fate is out of my hands, except for not violating the Stupid Rule. Every time I study art history, I feel so stupid. How come I can't remember anything? How can everyone else? I remember feeling similarly at the worst of AP French and AP Chem, when I was hopelessly lost and too embarrassed to ask for help. In Physics C, its kind of like that, where all I have to say is jargon, like I'm some trophy girl with nothing intelligent to offer. I know people like that - I always sniveled at them, and now I'm one of them? I used to always be able to help people with their homework, even if I didn't want to. I used to do the set-up problems for fun, and now I'm fighting to stay focused on the problem. When was I so dumb. At least MVC has treated me well, although iterated integrals have been pretty rough so far, even on CalcChat. The conclusion? I'll have to sleep more... and work harder.

I've started living into the night now. I didn't really understand why people would do this to themselves. I never understand those people who slept until noon. But these past two weeks, I've been sleeping anywhere between 12 and 3, clicking the night away. I wake up at 10 to the fading glow of my laptop, eat some junk food, and click away some more. I don't have any butterflies or the nervous laughter. I don't have the old teddy bear fantasies or fireplace cuddlies. I just want to run, to go forward, to pull that infamous wink I used to fall for, to squint in the rushing winds, laughing.

I'd rather keep to Heisenberg, to be caught in an oscillating . To know position, but not speed, not position, but speed. To keep the obvious subtleties buried so deep into thought, to make horrible flirtatious allusions. To make faces... to sleep. To celebrate.

So why do I act like I want something different. Am I bitter that vengeance is all that's left to want? Or am I afraid, that after the involuntary smile, the sigh of submission, the inconceivable shift away of pleasurable embarrassment, there'll be just an emptiness left inside?