Going to bed these past few weeks has been a nightmare ... except of course, a true nightmare would involve actually sleeping. And that's the problem, I just don't have that ability anymore.
Much like the vicious cycle of video game addictions -- and indeed, I have seen many evolve from Snood to Yahtzee to Solitaire to Tetris, in that or another order -- my sleeping habits have entered an unbeatable cycle of torture.
For me at least, lack of sleep makes noises jump several thousand decibels to levels completely beyond tolerable. The littlest sounds can keep me awake for hours, sending me into states of panic. And thus the cycle continues: the longer I can't sleep, the louder the noises become, and thus I stay awake.
This problem has affected me (as it probably affects most) for pretty much my entire life. But I have never ever seen an environment more hostile towards would-be sleepers than this happy little wing in the Choates.
Certainly this dorm cluster was not designed for quiet time. Benefits undoubtedly arise because of that, but when trying to take a nap or even just fall asleep at night there is no worse place to be than my little bed in my little corner of the dorm.
Oh, the distractions are many: from contstant chatter in the halls to loud, screaming shower conversations that echo through the wing, from snow plows in the early morning to the sound of the janitor knocking on the bathroom door asking politely (but loudly) if anyone's in there.
I figured out a long time ago that a few of the people around me possess some pretty loud (and sometimes almost unnaturally piercing) voices. However, I never knew the consequences would be so detrimental to my health.
And the doors obviously haven't gained weight since I've been here, so they must have been this heavy the whole time. Maybe people just waited awhile before experimenting with all of the ways to slam them. Similarly, I really have no right to complain about the hourly noise from the heaters, as I fought hard earlier this year to get the heat level upped to levels above freezing.
I do recall one night not too long ago when all forces of sleeping evil joined together to create one horrible waking nightmare of sleep deprivation. Though not quite as dramatic as the slumber party/dance party I suffered through until at least 5 a.m. one time, this day was something magical; the stars of sleeping had aligned in a way I never dreamed possible and kept me awake forever.
The stage was set on this night -- just hours away from my early-morning Spanish drill -- as my roommate and I attempted to go to bed a little early in hopes of catching up on some severely lacking sleep.
These weekday nights are a little dangerous anyway since earplugs are not an option (as I wouldn't hear the alarm, obviously), but I don't think the earplugs would have blocked out the vacuum. I really have no idea why someone would need to vacuum in the middle of the night on a Sunday, but this girl was obviously possessed by some sleeping demon.
Normal human motivations could not have allowed her to then pull open our door, flip on the lights and begin searching frantically for a box to send a package home. Apparently the post office in her world stayed open all night, which is fortunate since her immediate mailing was obviously pretty critical.
Good thing this girl is nice in waking hours, we thought, after deciding homicide would be a little too extreme even in a situation as desperate as this.
But that's when her door really got going. Clearly, they don't realize that since we live in corner rooms right across from each other and since the head of my bed rests right against that common wall, when they slam the door, they are basically slamming my head in the door.
And then my roommate started breathing. Though tempted to describe it as snoring since that would take any blame off me, I must admit that it really was just normal breathing. But considering how advanced the vicious cycle had become, the breathing sounded (to my distorted ears) a little more like a jet engine except with a much more annoying, regular pattern.
When I used to hear my dad snore, the solution was always to wake him up, get him to turn over and then go to sleep real fast before it started again. So in my state of not-falling-asleep panic, I started yelling my roommate's name, throwing soda cans across the room, banging chairs and generally making as much noise as possible.
Of course, just as luck would have it, the only thing that made her turn over was a shriek in the hall from our dear little vacuumer. So the cycle continued.
And I suddenly realized the painful truth: that I would never -- no matter how hard I tried and how much I complained -- be able to break this habitual torture. So, with a little encouragement from some other tired hallmates, I strapped on a set of bagpipes and let a really loud, really imposing, "Amazing Grace" ring out into the otherwise quiet night air. I don't know about the rest of them, but I couldn't have asked for a better lullaby.
