i should probably wash this shirt

I wonder whether the face of triumph is always this unglamorous.

I turned in the last of my academic work for the semester at 2 am. For that moment in time, I was victorious. But that moment was short lived.

I could not go to sleep. I admit, my sleeping patterns are far from normal. But this morning, there was nothing I could do to remedy the situation.

So I watched documentaries on Netflix, caught up on some television (including an entire season of Sex and the City), and read some articles on some literary websites. I have no idea what insomniacs of the past did to pass the time. I suppose I could have read a book, but after the intellectual exhaustion of the past few weeks, I thought that I deserved a break. Besides, the only books I have in my room are for my classes, and there is no way in hell I was going to relive any academic moments from the semester. But hey, it could have been worse. I could have been watching reality television.

Eventually, I drifted off to sleep. I know, it seems implausible, what with all the riveting entertainment at my disposal. But I think my body understood that sleep is a good thing, and therefore was being foolish for depriving me of it.

Unfortunately, I forgot to turn off my alarm. So here I am, sitting in bed as the grey light of morning slants through my open window, wondering what I am doing with my life. I’m wearing the same shirt I’ve been wearing for the past couple of days. My hair is all sorts of fucked up, and there are coffee cups and soda cans on my bedside table. All in all, I am a vision in black and white stripes.

I have poured my heart, soul, and brain into my work this semester. But all I have to show for it is a tired face and a listless body. What should be met with exuberant celebration is instead met with quiet, solitary contemplation.

I’d like to take this opportunity to bid farewell to the past semester. So long, awkward encounters in which I cannot see the other person until it’s too late to employ any diversionary tactics. Adieu, times when I leaned too far back in my desk chair and fell into my bookshelf, thanking any deity that would listen that no one else was in the room to see just how little of gravity I truly comprehend. Goodbye, moments of existential crisis during which I was rendered helpless by the sudden onslaught of self-doubt, only to lie catatonic in bed while pondering the possibility that this may be it for me.

I know that I have much to be thankful for about my time here. But tinted with the dull morning light, on very little rest (even for my standards), and under the influence of no caffeine, I cannot help being a little bit jaded.

I know things will get better. Later on, I’ll be happy about being done. But for now, I will lie here, rumpled up, and think. People say that their favorite part about summer is that they no longer have to think. That notion has always baffled me. I have never been able to escape.