I turn three bright florescent light bulbs that accompanied me for the night through the hours and hours and piles and piles of school work as they do every night. Before I flick the light switch all the way down, I sprint faster than I ever have during lacrosse with the least surface area of my feet touching the coarse carpet that witnesses this vulnerable moment every night. With the click of the switch, the room immediately transforms from white to black and I dive into the deep darkness. I successfully hop onto my bed before creatures underneath it can snatch my ankles and pull me in.
The bed remains the same way I left it when I took a nap after school; the comforter folded half way vertically across the bed. It is a wide open door, welcoming me in. The thick, heavy comforter tucks me in snugly. My hair is still soaking wet. I still hate soggy pillows. I don’t want to disturb the peaceful silence with the running turbo engine of the hair dryer. I maneuver my head on the rough, wool pillow so that even the side of my head, which is the least wet, barely touches the pillow. I am cautious like a kindergartner using her birthday present for the first time. Laying on my side, I’m not using anything beyond a foot in width on my queen size bed. The lamppost in my neighbor’s yard shines in brighter than the moon, and the lime green flash from my laptop charger distracts me further more. I am having what feels like the biggest crisis of the day: should I turn to the other side where it’s darker? Or, should I stay how I am, even though the arm underneath my waist is in my way? The position I am in isn’t too bad. I come upon the decision to stay how I am and not take risks of spending another ten minutes adjusting to a comfortable position. I am anxious about how tired I will feel tomorrow if I don’t fall asleep soon. Before it’s too late, I remind myself of the techniques I read on a Yahoo blog on how to fall asleep. I go through the list from what I can remember. I have already done all those things. It must be like exercising. If you do the same workout for a while, there are no gains from doing it. Exhausted from the day, sore lacrosse from lacrosse, and mentally burned out from people, before I had even noticed I was comfortable, I fell asleep.
The bed remains the same way I left it when I took a nap after school; the comforter folded half way vertically across the bed. It is a wide open door, welcoming me in. The thick, heavy comforter tucks me in snugly. My hair is still soaking wet. I still hate soggy pillows. I don’t want to disturb the peaceful silence with the running turbo engine of the hair dryer. I maneuver my head on the rough, wool pillow so that even the side of my head, which is the least wet, barely touches the pillow. I am cautious like a kindergartner using her birthday present for the first time. Laying on my side, I’m not using anything beyond a foot in width on my queen size bed. The lamppost in my neighbor’s yard shines in brighter than the moon, and the lime green flash from my laptop charger distracts me further more. I am having what feels like the biggest crisis of the day: should I turn to the other side where it’s darker? Or, should I stay how I am, even though the arm underneath my waist is in my way? The position I am in isn’t too bad. I come upon the decision to stay how I am and not take risks of spending another ten minutes adjusting to a comfortable position. I am anxious about how tired I will feel tomorrow if I don’t fall asleep soon. Before it’s too late, I remind myself of the techniques I read on a Yahoo blog on how to fall asleep. I go through the list from what I can remember. I have already done all those things. It must be like exercising. If you do the same workout for a while, there are no gains from doing it. Exhausted from the day, sore lacrosse from lacrosse, and mentally burned out from people, before I had even noticed I was comfortable, I fell asleep.
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