Life is more interesting when you are tired. You see, being in college, I don’t get much sleep to begin with. Add to that a roommate whose mood depends on the weather; church work; a strange desire to sit around and eat peanut butter; a boy; graduate applications; and another roommate who tells a story 15 times to feel validated; and sleep evaporates quicker than sweat in a Phoenix June. As I lose sleep, my mind stops focusing on everything, as if it is trying to speed read through life, and only picks up the key words. This is why life is more interesting when you are sleep deprived. At night, when I try to remember my day, the classes and exchanges with friends merge and it reads back like this:
Beeping clock! te quiero, quiero mi cama. The jussive equals a hortatory riding Ceasar’s chariot, though late. Buzzing phone! Sorry, it’s not that Lesbia doesn’t love Hegel, it’s that I think the future perfect passive looks a lot like lunch. Is he speaking Greek? Achilles, stop trying to project yourself on American literature. я тебя люблю. Sappho muses about Poe’s meter and does a jig when class ends but the Nietzschean apotheosis of man eats my chocolate. Honk! Horses are fast now-a-days. Hey, the door is broken and Em just demystified the mammoth philosophers of next door, again. You look so Rip Van Wrinkle that nocturne is a perfect aria. Sit and drink this gestalt and sleep off your bilabial plosives. ἀγάπω ὕπνος.
Thus ended my fiftieth post.
6 days ago
