Monday, December 01, 2008

ThePeach is Nocturnal Again; Scared

Dear TheNurse,

It’s happening again. I’m becoming a woman of the night. A mole-person. A crazy-eyed psychopath.

It’s happening again.

Remember when we lived together during undergrad and I wouldn’t emerge from my room for days at a time? Remember how my eyes adjusted to the darkness, like some kind of raccoon? Remember how you’d come downstairs for your pre-work cheerios at 5:30am to find me quietly baking a piece of chicken?

TheNurse: *shuffles into kitchen with eyes closed. Flips on light. Opens eyes to discover Peach standing 4 inches away, peering calmly into TheNurse’s face with pupils the size of quarters*
ThePeach: Hi.
TheNurse: *screams*
ThePeach: Want some chicken?
TheNurse: MOTHERFUCK! You scared the dried shit out of me!! What are you doing standing in the kitchen, in the dark, at 5:30am?? Are you a bat now?? Were you hanging upside-down from the ceiling before I got here?!
ThePeach: I’m writing my research paper. It’s on schizophrenia.
TheNurse: *sniff* Do I smell minute rice?
ThePeach: I’m making dinner. The peas should be done soon, too.
TheNurse: Do you realize it’s 5:30am?
ThePeach: Of course, silly. WAIT. WHAT MONTH IS IT??
TheNurse: December.
ThePeach: *microwave dings* Ok. Good. I’m going to eat these peas in my room. See you tomorrow. *takes bowl out of microwave, walks into room, turns off light.*

Remember how I would work until 6 or 7am every night (morning?), sleep until 5pm, and repeat x 2 weeks every year during finals? Remember how pale I would get from my only natural light being the moon? Remember how creepily calm I would remain during this mania, how I would flatly spew out 40 page papers, but then fall onto the floor incapacitated with hysterical grief if I ran out of Alphaghetti?

It’s happening again.

But now it’s worse, because I have to go to class at 9am every morning.
But now it’s worse, because coffee makes me think sleep is my little bitch.
But now it’s worse, because I discovered energy drinks. My chest hurts.

Here is a rough outline of my day.

The sun rises. I thrash around in bed like I am coming down off a bad coke binge. I have been lying down for just over 1 hour. There is a laptop on top of my abdomen, frying my fallopian tubes into infertility. There is a post-it note stuck in my hair that says "eat a vegetable today". I’m dreaming that the cat is break dancing to “Faith” by George Michael. It is partially true, as I realize the music is coming out of my radio alarm and the cat is using my scalp as a trampoline. Coffee #1-3. Shower. 6 hours of class + 4 cups of coffee. Home. 1-2 hour nap. Wake up in a dark vortex. Unaware of time, place or date. Is it tomorrow? What is tomorrow? December? Why am I wearing only tube socks and a hooded sweatshirt? Call FauxHawk. Cry over amount of work. Pout and make dinner. Wash it down with either a red bull or a full throttle. Love life again. Call all friends to tell them I love life. Work until 2am. Decide to quit school. Coffee x 3. Work until 5am. Crawl into bed (literally crawl). Remove pants but not socks or sweatshirt. Kiss pillow with fervor. Embrace mattress. Mutter loving words to blanket. Heart feels funny. Sleep 2 hours. Dream of poutine.

It’s happening again, TheNurse.

You’ll be glad to know, though, that I am seriously going to cut down on the energy drinks. My life is hilarious and cruelly ironic, and I can think of no death more pathetic or fitting than a bull-induced heart attack. It might already be God’s final chapter to my life, and I don’t want to encourage him. But if I should actually pass into the netherworld, please print the following obituary: no more, no less.

ThePeach. 1982-2008. Cause of death: Full Throttle. She died as she lived.

Don’t be mad, TheNurse. At least I’m eating my vegetables.



Spaz said...

Liar! Liar! Chocolate chip cookies!!!

Megh said...

I totally understand the veggies part- I went out for celebratory wings last night with friends and insisted that the waiter bring out two bowls of celery and carrot sticks...

Exam time: when garnish becomes a salad.

Keep up the clementines; we can't have you getting exam season scurvy!