Uneventful days leave me with no material to add to my blog, which irritates me. Everyday can’t be an interesting day, of course. If I decided to update my blog once a week instead, you’ll receive more solid ideas or morals or advice. By solid I mean, the examples I use from my experiences will be employed in a better way to ultimately encode something that I hope you will find useful. Some days just bore me to tears.
But all is not lost! Here is a piece I wrote a long while back.
I Do Not Need Sleep
It was 3:21AM when I got into bed after watching an episode of ‘New Girl’. The protagonist, Jess, played by the cute Zooey Deschanel was apparently her roommate, Nick’s “cooler”. It’s when a friend, in the effort of helping you to pick up girls, unintentionally ruins the chance of you picking one up. This situation is not just an anti-climax at its best, but also shows that this friend makes a hopelessly terrible wingman. At that moment, I realised that the closest possible thing I have to a cooler is probably Connor.
I’ve always imagined living in an apartment with him and Tommy some time in the future, and whenever we would be out, Connor would most likely blurt out embarrassing secrets about me to any girl, half of which would be entirely fictional. Although, I know he’d probably be doing it deliberately and apparently “out of love”. I know, I feel sorry for myself too. I slapped him once and that ended tragically. Let’s just say I’ve never had anything so heavy sit on top of me before.
Furthermore, despite how irrevocably aware I was that sleep was never likely going to spare me the misery of wondering up at my ceiling for three horrible hours unless I read a book, which my contemplative mind prevented me from doing, I was in bed doing what an average over-thinker shouldn’t ever be doing: over-bloody-thinking. Utterly frustrated, I got out of bed at 6:21 and through the magical invention of wireless fidelity, I had a small rant on Twitter about my sleeplessness. I even tweeted that I was going to drink coffee to purposely stay awake so as to show sleep that I didn’t need the bastard. And I did so over an episode of 90210, which I genuinely didn’t expect to be on at such an early time that its target audience, which is undoubtedly teenagers, would naturally be carrying out the activity they were most dedicated to at that particular stage of life: sleeping. And here I was, sitting on my black leather living room sofa, drinking my homemade coffee and watching 90210 at 6 in the morning.
Later that day a “PING!!” was startled. My cousin, Muz, had given me an annoying ‘ping’ on Blackberry Messenger, which had forced me to pause my current read, The Wolf of Wallstreet, an insanely amazing novel containing many aspects that would be considered blasphemous. “Oh the nerve!” the hormonally driven and the prosperous, Jordan Belfort, I imagined would’ve expressed if he had been disturbed from his daily activities. “Whoever thinks they can bother me at this time better have some fucking great excuse!” So judging by its explicitly crude nature, I certainly agreed with the Sunday Times as it being similar to Scorsese’s Goodfellas, and I have to say, I never thought I’d ever enjoy a book wherein the protagonist’s tongue is full of such filth. I, however, wasn’t annoyed as easily as the great Wolf of Wallstreet, and I opened the message from my cousin to find, “Ma Nigga!” (Forgive him. Colloquially it has become a cool trend for the youth to use the N word towards a good friend or brother as admiration even if you’re not black) following this request, “Nandos tonight?”
The wolf sure does know how to motivate you, though. It’s nice to know that he has learnt from his… peculiar past.
Despite my recent insomniac experience that day, I, like Danny Wallace, decided to be a Yes Man. To motivate myself, however, I spat at sleep’s face and thought: ‘I don’t need sleep!’
“What time?” I replied.
“Meet at nans. 7 O’clock, hun.”
“Alright, babe.”
Leaving my house wearing my new white shirt, slim fit black jeans and navy Adidas shoes, I strode in unison to the beat of the song called Counting Stars by One Republic, it’s depiction of life as an opportunity to embark on great things, not just for money, which was unusually crucial enough to dwell in the minds of apparently young adults like me, but merely for the experience, greatly motivated me. My favourite verses peculiarly reflected my mind: “Old, but I’m not that old. Young, but I’m not that bold.”
As I made my way through Vicarage Lane with confident steps, passing White Horse pub and proceeded towards Central Park, I realised I had in fact been “losing sleep” yet the beat of the song kindled my spirits further, and currently, “everything that drowns me” – my sleeplessness, contemplation and furious hunger – “makes me wanna fly!” This rare psychological stimulation through the magical effect of music was carried through the zebra crossing as I caught the 115 bus!
Suddenly I woke up, just in time to hurry down the stairs from the upper deck and jump off of the bus in a flurry at Aldgate East Station. Overwhelmed by consciousness swiftly returning to me at that perplexing moment, I took a few seconds to shake my drowsiness away before I started walking in the direction of Brick Lane, where my grandma lived, and contemplated: ‘Have I really been asleep throughout the forty-five minute bus journey?’
kneeadd 