They say sleep deprivation is an effective method of torture. I’m starting to understand why.
Currently, I’m sitting on a bench by the West Side Highway eating a carrot cake muffin and drinking a large cold brew, from Birch Coffee if you were wondering. I’ve under-slept consistently for the last two weeks. And I’m trying to remember the last day that life went according to plan. It all started when I decided to drop everything and spend a week in England.
Someone was playing “Don’t Look Back in Anger” on a piano as I walked to my gate at Logan Airport. That’s my favorite song, if you didn’t know.
Taking a red eye flight from Boston to London, I was seated in the middle section with 4 seats across. The seat next to me was empty and in the other two seats were these guys from England. Brothers, 27 and 25 year old. We became friends before take-off, bonding over the luck of having an open seat between us. I told them I was going to sit cross legged just because I could.
Funny enough, they had been in New York earlier that week and were staying in a hotel a few blocks from my apartment. And the older brother just got married to a girl from Lincoln, Rhode Island. He showed me photos from the wedding. It was beautiful — in the Cotswolds. I asked them about their favorite bands. And we laughed about how American I am and how British they are. It was amusing.
After a few hours of trying to sleep upright, I ended up curling up in a ball and using the open seat between me and the oldest brother to lay down. I slept for two hours.
When I woke up, one of the brother’s said, “Good morning, sleeping beauty. Now I can get my AirPod case back.”
I was sleeping on it. And he said I missed breakfast, which is fine because I hate airplane food anyway.
When we were getting off the plane, the older brother asked me how I was getting to my hotel. I said I was planning to Uber. He replied, “Absolutely not — you are coming on the Tube with us.”
And so we rode the Tube on the Elizabeth line from Heathrow all the way to my hotel. And when I got off, I gave them each a hug, said it was lovely to meet them, and went on my way.
And here begins my perpetual lack of sleep.
So you might be wondering why I left town with only a few days notice.
For a few weeks I had been acting like someone I’m not — not on purpose. It was a byproduct of a few life obstacles, work stress, and 95 degree heat. And embodying a summer mentality of “nothing matters.” I hadn’t been feeling great since the first official day of summer. Daily nausea from the heat was messing with my head, paired with the feeling of needing to make the most of the fleeting summer months.
And then to pile on, I’ve been feeling pretty misunderstood recently. As if who I am inside is not seen. Carrie says that when I’m feeling this way, I should imagine my favorite band playing in my head so I feel like myself again. And that’s been helping.
I love my life, but part of me wants to run away from everything — to move to another city and work at a radio station that only plays alternative and rock music. And I can pretend I’m really cool and don’t care about anything. I’ll do an ironic combination of things like go to church every Sunday and date an atheist. I’ll wear baggy clothes with perfect hair, and drink coffee at 8pm just to go to sleep right after.
And I would sit in dark corners at bars and drink boulevardiers. And get a new phone number and only give it to the important people.
But that is not the reality. So here I found myself. In New York. Overheated. Temporarily convinced that “I don’t care.” About anything really.
And I was presented with the opportunity to leave town and I took it. But it didn’t stop there.
Here is a list of things I’ve been up to lately:
Buying all the concert tickets I want
Going to sleep consistently after midnight
Ignoring my text messages
Accidentally dehydrating myself
Listening to Brat
Drinking three coffees a day
Giving my job one week of notice before going on a 7-day vacation
Laying in my bed for hours on end just to avoid going out into the heat
Saying yes to more classes even when my schedule is already busy
Waiting until the last minute to buy all my plane tickets
Ignoring jet lag
Going out late when I have to wake up at 4am to work
Pretending to be someone I’m not just to see what happens
…etc.
By the end of my first night in London, I genuinely don’t remember half of what I was saying. I had (pretty much) been awake for two days and I was having dinner with my friend Lara at Shoreditch House — and my brain was moving at half-speed. I was so exhausted; I lost all filter. My mouth was moving faster than my brain.
I spent the next week abroad going to bed at 1 or 2 in the morning because I was still on New York time, but then waking up early. But I was enjoying every second — biking around the countryside, playing tennis, sitting beside cozy fireplaces, laughing and taking a physical and metaphorical deep breath. And the hours of sleep lost started to pile up.
When I got back stateside, I decided it would be a good idea to go to two birthday parties in one night, followed by drinks with my friend Billy before having to teach two classes in the morning.
Then I stayed up until 1am on Monday night for quite literally no reason at all. Then I bought day-of concerts tickets for Noah Kahan and got home at midnight (I had to be up at 4am for work the next day). And then the day after, I decided to go out to dinner and have a few drinks, only to wake up at 4am yet again the next day.
When you are this tired, it sort-of dulls your senses. You don’t have the energy for the things you usually worry about. So I guess there are some up-sides. It’s that kind of tired that you feel in the back of your throat and in the weight of your bones.
But the fun part of letting your life fall off-track is having a lot of room for improvement. And having the task of getting things back on track.
Here is a list of things I’m going to start doing as of today:
Drinking enough water
Going to bed early again
Texting my friends back
Laundry
And I’m done with “not caring.” I suppose we try to appear like we don’t care because that makes us feel better, or more in-control maybe. But what does it really get us? Not caring is actually quite sad.
I hope that when I’m gone one day, people will say, “She cared a lot. And felt deeply about things. I felt the care first hand.”
I care a lot more than I think I do, because I was thinking today about how I don’t have the emotional capacity to disappoint people that I care about. When I do disappoint someone, even in the smallest of ways, I can’t sleep.