Notice: This post
will make me seem like a sorry excuse
for a: student/rule follower (note the 500+ word count)/human being/Ellen Degeneres
wannabe.
As you
know, I have chosen to write my research paper on the negative effects of sleep
deprivation. The process has been equal parts interesting and eye opening (not
to mention ironic as I sit here at 2:20 am with no signs of stopping). Growing
up, my mother was a firm believer in bedtimes, providing my friends with some
excellent ammunition to tease me with I might add but I digress. Because of
this, the ability to go to sleep when I’m actually tired has completely thrown
off my circadian rhythm considerably. As we have discussed (and discussed and
discussed…) I am an extremely anxious person, and although adjusting to college
was not immediately a difficult task, it didn’t take long for my waking hours
to be fraught with worry, but let me explain.
As a
communication major I pride myself, in fact I am completely dependent upon, my
ability to talk to people. It is arguably my sole existing skill. I’ve had the
pleasure of encountering countless first impressions in my new environment, but
with rush week and meeting the countless people in my classes, residence hall,
sorority and on campus one would think that I’d be all talked out by now. I’m
inclined to agree- at least halfway. Yes, I am fully aware that I chose (and paid…) for this to be my life here, and
while it does curtail the number of complaints I voice, it doesn’t make me any
less exhausted. What’s worse, living in this newfound state of semi-consciousness
has left me feeling like part of me is missing.
Typically, I pride myself on three
things: 1. Self-confidence 2. Being a varied and interesting* conversationalist
and 3. Possessing a sharp* wit. In recent days, I feel as though I have lost
touch with all of these capabilities. Am I wrong to suggest that it is near
impossible to feel confident when you are the embodiment of the phrase “you look so comfortable!”? Everyone
knows that ‘comfortable’ is just a polite woman’s synonym for ‘crappy’. And how
can my conversations be interesting if the only thing on my mind is why my
pillow isn’t? But if we’re being honest, I miss my wit the most.
So scratch what I said about my
only skill, I am privileged to include cleverness on the shortlist of two.
In high school it was the only
reason teachers liked me, the only reason most other students knew I existed. For
someone cursed with unruly, uncooperative, curly hair and a broken nose, it has
been the closest thing to beauty I have ever known. It should come as no
surprise that I desperately want it back. If convincing you to cancel class is
what it takes to be reunited with the comfort of my long-lost friend then so be
it. My life’s one, lonely, tremendously vague, ambition is to someday have a
career in comedy, so it is imperative that
I maintain the wit that I have become so attached to.
I would like to leave you with one
poignant, over dramatic and unnecessarily accusatory question: Could you, in
good conscience, prevent the dreams of one bright-eyed hopeful from becoming a
reality? COULD YOU?
*term used loosely
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