It is 11:49pm. I have not slept in 27 hours.
I traced lines on ceilings and guessed the speeds of the cars that passed by, bringing sorts of shadowy living movement to the wall.
There is no music on, and the fan is whirring. I think about earlier and coming home to an apartment with 40 people and a keg, and my upper respiratory infection screaming for mercy, and my head busting with biology, and my roommate gritting her teeth as if to say, what can I say? Do you want some beer?
No.
1am
I exit left and drive the drive south. I find solace in a blank-walled bedroom, where I stare at the ceiling and feel slight comfort with company. I forget my medicine. It’s hot, and I hear laughter in the living room and the whirling death of Ms. Pacman on my Sega Genesis. I had brought it over a month previous and have not seen it since.
4am
I hear my pleasant company grind those gorgeous teeth in mid-sleep, and I curl up like a fetus facing the wall and count the sheep-ish smiles I get with every grind.
6am
The alarm goes off. My ears pop. I picture mucus playing a game of billiards and winning every time. I am wearing the same thing I was wearing… is it considered yesterday? And I walk in dark mists of East Austin with my fingers crossed, hoping my shitty truck has finally gotten stolen.
No.
7am
I drink coffee and eat.
It’s a miracle.
7:30am
I decide Facebook pisses me off, and I scold it for its artificiality… by writing a Facebook “Note.”
9:00am
I tell my roommate I am not mad at her for having a keggar on a Monday night.
9:10am
I realize I have no clean clothes. I throw on a standard hoodie and a standard terry-cloth skirt, some tights, and some flip-flops; I put up my hair and throw on my glasses. I hope no one thinks I am in a sorority. The only reason why I am going to this class is because I sense a quiz. Otherwise my time will be wasted, and I will regret not doing drugs instead.
The sky is pretty gray, and I grab some juice from the corner store that always plays good jazz. A boy stands at the soda fountain indecisively while another buys a pack of cigarettes at the counter. The clerk is reading the classifieds and snapping his fingers. I approach the counter with a pack of addictive gum and my juice and I say, “Good MOURNING.”
9:30am
There is no quiz, and I recall a previous conversation from yesterday (I think?) with my friend about how college is a waste of time. My class is about racism and shit and they basically lay out in this session that white people should not try to rap. I put down my pen in the middle of the rhyme I’m writing. This lesson thus negates my dreams of being a female hip-hop artist – a good one. I think maybe I could claim Chicana and throw in some of my Spanish slang vocab like “mota,” but then I realize that is fucking stupid. I justify that all good music was stolen from black people and that is not my fault – nor my intention.
11am
Class is over. The rain is coming down. My hood barely covers my head, and raindrops are getting into my eyes in between my glasses. My bangs are wet, and my friend and I discuss that it’s a great day to be a realist. I mention that I hate flowers, so April showers can kiss my ass. I tell him my theory about how evil births good and how he should start doing drugs because it would suit him well.
I told him it was a compliment. He laughed at me while I waited at the streetcorner. A truck drove by and splattered mud all over my delta-delta outfit.
12:11pm
Time to take the test I didn’t study for while writing this.
I am listening to Bessie Smith – the fan is off. A half-drank cup of coffee sits next to me from this morning and gum wrappers are thrown. I already chewed the entire pack. I walk to class in the middle of a thunderstorm.
it’s-the-forlorn-girl-at-Starbucks-looking-out-the-window-wishing-for-another-five-dollar-cup; the-homeless-man-whom-i-keep-telling-he-is-asking-the-wrong-person-for-money-while-contemplating-if- he-would-use-it-to-by-drugs,-right-before-i-buy-mota; the-flyers-for-worldly-causes-ashley-doesn’t-take-because-there-is-no-time-for-AIDS-when there-is-only-a-given-30-minutes-to-run-around-in-circles-at-the-gym; the-thousands-of dollars-paid-to-“be something,”; the-text-message-to-the-best-friend-describing-the-kid- on-the-Drag-licking-a-street-pole.
12:30pm
Test time. I bite my nail so hard it starts bleeding. The kid next to me hogs the arm-rest and pretends that if he doesn’t finish the test in 10 minutes, the building will blow. I am grateful for his prompt rescuing and his quick departure.
1:10pm
I finish surprisingly early. I got an A or an F. I stand in the doorway and watch the rain plummet on unsuspecting shorts-and-T-shirt-wearers. Finished test-takers pass by me and stare at my blatant sadistic pleasure. I hiss. Inside.
it’s-the-streaming-streets-where-my-travel-could-flourish-if-i-could-jump-on-these-buses- and-point-to-the-south; the-miles-in-the-rain-never-walked-otherwise-only-for-these-cases; the-cigarette-smokers-huddled-under-trees-blowing-off-steam-and-looking-so-dope.
2:00pm
I am cold and wet, but I only notice because it feels like everyone is telling me. I find my class and find out my final paper is due in two days. I decide I am going to write something about lesbians and then throw in some kind of animal.
3:00pm
Class is dismissed early. I opt for the bus. We pack on like torture victims, and a girl steals my seat while looking me in the eye. I give her ojo. She doesn’t know I am Chicana, partly. She should buy some eggs. I grab about eight bus poles with two arms but still manage to fly against my fellow herdsmen. The guy in front of me’s backpack is nylon, and the emergency exit is leaking, and this chick’s hair is everywhere, and I open my new book, and I close it.
it’s-the-bus-stops-by-construction-sites; the-guy-and-his-ipod-and-his-razor-and-his-party-plans-and-he-is-cool-because-it-is-only-tuesday; the-frat-brothers-who-have-not-seen-each-other-since-the-last-foam-party; the-jokes-about-the-weather; the-jokes-about-this-weekend; jokes-made-on-buses-are-never-funny-just-annoying.
3:23pm
I am in my beer-smelling home. I turn on the heater and glance at the same cup of coffee. I think about it.
The place drives me insane, and I count the pieces of cereal on my floor instead of sleeping.
When was the last time I ate? I cannot differentiate days.
i-have-to-write-my-paper. one-two-three-four-five-raisin-bran. Laundry.
It is 4:49pm
I have not slept in 32 hours.
It is 4:50pm
I have not slept in 32 hours.
All that separates these instances of life are fewer and fewer hours of sle…
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