A Week In

Coming up on one week since I moved in. In that time I've met a number of really cool people. Kate, down the hall, is a bohemian girl with indecision plaguing her junior year. Across from her is the out-spoken conservative, Kristan, a rare breed in these parts. Sam, Patrick, and Sean occupy the next few spots, providing outlooks ranging from 'jock' to film junkie. To my right lie two architects. Jon just got back from a year at Oxford, and doubles as the floor RA. Lisa, a painter on top of her design skills, has the biggest room on the floor and rightfully so because she fills it with her own incredible creations.

Campus life is how I expected it. I find it difficult to isolate myself from the social life of the dorm. Its so easy to walk down any hall and find someone worth killing time with, exploring each others pasts censor free. I've found myself a few times in situations where topics of conversation hit home with both parties, splicing connections easily. Most of the time however its just a joking atmosphere.. throwing fruit, planning practical jokes, giving everybody and anybody a hard time.

A week in. One of 200 left. Time will tell whether I'll be counting the last days in anticipation or dejection.

First day

Today is my first day on campus. I actually have no emotions about it whatsoever. I don’t feel excited or anxious really, not as much as I thought I would. Its hard to explain, but basically I just feel like this is what I’m supposed to be doing, and that nothing else should be happening right now. The shoe fits.

I had a couple of meetings early in the morning, then killed the rest of the night with some people from my floor. Checked out the Floyd Laser Show, which was decent. Put together some girls ridiculous shoe rack, and then called it a night after some Family Guy.

If this is how I spend the next few months.. I’m golden. Something tells me I won’t.

A closing thought would be my inability to buy things I actually need. I have a stapler with no staples, colored pencils but no regular pencils, highlighters but not one regular pen, and a printer with no ink. I’m doing well so far.

Fighting my own mind

I try to lay down, instantly my entire body is washed in discomfort. No matter how “tired” I become, sleep eludes me, or rather my body eludes sleep. Read, watch TV, stare at the ceiling, hope. Nothing. I yawn so big I have to close my eyes, but as much as my head wants to sleep my legs want to run, my arms want to climb, and even my toes fight to stay awake.

My insomnia is a recent problem, but not a new one. Years ago sleep was a battle, and staying well rested was a war. I lost for about a year and a half. Over the last couple years I’ve been able to keep it under control, or at least until my return from Colorado a couple weeks ago. I was there registering for school, and its no coincidence the last time I couldn’t sleep was when I was still going to school. I’ve always believed I write better tired, and because my head tends to follow self fulfilling prophecies I wouldn’t be surprised if this is just my unconscious brain (we'll call it Larry) preparing for a career of writing. What Larry hasn’t realized is that I am accustomed to sleeping well, and though I can live on 20 hours of sleep a week I don’t prefer it.

My conscious self (Fred) seems to get into fights with Larry on a regular basis. Despite the idea being one that tip-toes on the brink of insanity, Fred can usually defeat Larry with a siege of thoughts that counter whatever rationalizations Larry makes. In this case, as I said, Larry thinks I write better when I lack sleep. Ignoring the fact that this piece of writing itself counters that belief, Fred will need to go on a campaign of pro-sleep thoughts for a week or two in order to really seal the victory. Fred vs. Larry. I have my money on Fred, but this won't be any first round knockout.