Sleep-deprived Sunday

It’s about half past one in the morning as I’m writing this. My head feels heavy, my dehydrated lips crack as I yawn and my eyes feel tired. The logical step to take would probably be to lie down in bed and drift off into slumber, right? Makes sense to me. I’ve got a bus to catch in the next four hours so being as well-rested as I can should give me the energy get through the day.

Unfortunately, instead of being whisked away into the theater of the subconscious mind, dull white paint and a bright orange lamp fill my view for a solid 20 minutes. My eyelids don’t seem to be helping me much aside from covering my eyes while listen to myself breathe.

Why can’t I sleep? Is it because of my worry that my sickly aloe vera might not live much longer? Is it because of the lingering anxiety that I might not complete my work (to standard) by the end of this coming deadline? Might it be the sinking feeling that life is becoming increasingly meaningless that is creeping up on me?

Or might it be that I am homesick and that I miss being with my family, my cats and my country?

It might be one of them. It might be all of them. It might be none of them.

The very act of me writing this post is, in itself, a counter-productive action towards my pursuit of sleep as both the blinding screen and the grinding of mental gears would make me more awake than sleepy. But, at the same time, if I continue doing this I might be able to use up whatever energy that is keeping me up and go to sleep.

Alternatively, sleeping on the bus is always an option and my twenty years of existence has taught me that I sleep best in a vehicle. Except aeroplanes. I have no idea why. I’d blame the seats but I’ve had many a sore neck sleeping in bus seats less comfortable than that. I cannot really blame the entertainment system either as I rarely touch the finnicky thing unless they have a movie I like. Either way, sustaining consciousness for 13 hours straight is not a fun experience at all. Trust me, waking up to a severe case of jet lag would be the closest thing I can describe as a hangover despite not having a drop of liquid stupidity down my throat since ever.

The urge to just lie down and try asking for an access permit into that elusive country of dreams is strong. I am positive that most other people would do just that and wake up happier for it. But, unlike those hypothetical people, I am real and the society’s committee, who also happen to be short on on-the-ground people, require my presence in Warwick for the Malaysian Society Warwick Games thus leading me to have this long-winded, potentially nonsensical tirade on sleep. While I am more than happy to offer my services as a member of the committee, I cannot help but feel like the situation would not have needed me at all if small circumstances have changed.

Circumstances like, I don’t know, having more than 50% of the committee (shadow members included) take part in the Games themselves. That, and maybe, just maybe, getting a bit more participation from the members of the Malaysian Society on campus. Seriously. The members of the committee are working hard to make the society interesting. It would be nice if these lovely countrymen of mine engage in these activities more so that committee members don’t have to compete in the Games to fill in spaces.

Then again, it is perfectly understandable why this ideal situation did not happen and that if economics has taught me anything, it is that the world will always throw a wrench into your plans and calculations no matter how well-thought they are.

I’ll probably follow this up sometime later when I return from this excursion. For now, I’ll be signing off, possibly contemplating snagging an energy drink or a nice hot cup of caffeine to keep me going.

 

Advertisements

What are your thoughts?

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s