I always seem to find myself awake too late at night: 1 a.m., 2 a.m., wide awake with my cogs turning, churning up thoughts about what I have to do the next day, what I didn’t do today, what I should have done, what I should be doing…(Some people might call that anxiety but I don’t have the money for a therapist so I’ll just call it something else.)
As I lay in bed now I’m starting to think that all this thinking is actually pining – pining for feeling something new before bed.
I can’t wait until I can put my head on a pillow and think, “Tomorrow’s going to be great.” Actually, considering the fact that I’m kind of a pessimist, I guess I can’t wait until I can put my head on a pillow and think, “Tomorrow won’t be awful,” which is almost a step in the direction I’d like to be going in, but I digress. What I’m trying to get at is I can’t wait until I can feel good about my next-days. I’m tired of dreading pulling myself out of bed to trudge to classes I don’t want to be in then trudge back to my apartment to stare at different textbooks for hours at a time while opening and closing Facebook to see that nothing’s changed since the last time I looked and I should probably be getting more work done.
I guess I’m just so ready to be doing the things I want to do. People tell you that being a college student is you paving your path to the rest of your life. But honestly, it feels like being a college student is you pining for the rest of your life. And not even the work/job/occupation part. Just, literally. Life.
My roommate and I often gripe that we can’t wait to be done with school because our time will finally be ours. OURS. What a concept. That we could go to work for 8 or so hours then come home and read a book, or go for a run, or sit in a goddamn chair for four hours, who cares. It’s OUR time. Everyone says you have so much freedom in college, so much time, but when you think about it: not really. I may have put my own schedule together but someone else told me which pieces were available for me to move around. And those pieces all need attention, hours of attention. My classes are like my children – they all want this and that and to do these things and those things and I’m laying in bed with the lights off, nursing a headache thinking, “Mommy needs, like, five minutes…” By the time I give them all the attention they feed off of, I’m so tired I couldn’t lift the TV remote if I wanted to. And you can’t get rid of them, due to a few legal reasons, not to mention the idea of your mother asking, “I haven’t seen any sign of your kids lately,” while you hum loudly to yourself and pretend you can’t hear her.
All I’m saying is I’m ready for Mommy time.
Okay, this analogy has gotten strange. Me time. Me. I’m ready to stop pining for better tomorrows and start having them because they’re filled with things I can’t wait to do. And don’t think me naive: I know I’ll still have to do a few things I’m not thrilled about, hell, we all do. But the opportunity for more is there. And I’m ready to go to bed and be excited about that opportunity: whether I’ve taken advantage of it or I’ve found another that I’ll be able to. The door is open. And I’m ready to stop having my thoughts keep me up until 1 a.m. or 2 a.m. because I’d rather be up late to postpone my monotonous tomorrow full of boring lectures and reading dry texts. I just want to do things for me that make me happy, give me new experiences and I want to have time for those things without feeling guilty, neglectful, or regretful about doing them. I want to feel good about the day to come, finally and put my head on the pillow at night and say, “I did this today and that was good and tomorrow will be good too because I’ve got the chance to make it good.” Then I’ll probably think, “That isn’t exactly poetic, but it’s comforting,” then close my eyes, settle in and snooze.