3 March, 2005

Now: tea as black as coffee, radio jazz and Greek translation. I wish I were Sappho; translating dumbed-down textbook Herodotus would be easier. No… I wish I were reading Sappho. I wish I didn’t have so much work to do.

Later: Cherry Coke to keep my synapses firing. Latin homework, Latin take-home exam. Songs blur together and fade into the background and eventually the music stops. I don’t notice. All I want is sleep. Eventually, with work left undone, I give in.

Later still: A shrill alarm. My heart thuds in my chest; I am terrified until I realize what the noise is. I stumble out of bed and, with an intimation of regret, hit the snooze button. I find my bed again and turn my back to the soft light of the desk-lamp. Nine minutes later: repeat. And again, and again, each time startled into consciousness, heart racing. Finally, I stay awake, knowing I have more work to do. Work gets done, a new day starts, and, slowly, being conscious gets easier.

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midnight oil (journal)

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