I don't think I realized how exhausted I actually was after a week of insomniatic nights and half-assed naps, but then I realized yesterday night that I had just read twenty pages and had literally no idea what they were about. So even though it was only about 9:30, I popped a sleeping pill, waited for twenty minutes, and slept like a corpse until Tegan and Sara's "Wake Up Exhausted" blasted out of my laptop at 7:30 in the morning. I felt infinitely better, but I think I was still dragging when I went to a lecture to see if it would be any good and ended up stuck in an intimate, two hour small-group seminar with the cognitive and evolutionary anthropologists. It was actually really interesting, and if I didn't already have a thousand pages of reading every week, I'd probably keep going, but this morning I was basically dying quietly in a corner but couldn't leave because it would have been rude. Instead, I waited patiently, frantically changed into track pants, and went to the gym for my induction, where my exhaustion meant that a) I looked ridiculous on the exercise balls as I tried to pull myself up and sort of rolled away, and b) I developed a crush on my trainer. These things don't happen when I've got my guard up.
You'd think that I'd be eager to pop another pill and get my sleep cycle in order, but you would be wrong, because I'm signed up to bartend tonight. My life is like a Choose Your Own Adventure, only you have to choose between taking nips from a bottle of gin and going clubbing or popping an antihistamine and collapsing into bed. Or both, but then you turn to page 97 and die and you're not able to get up in the morning and act like an idiot at the gym.
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