Journal 11/29. Not Poem.

Say goodnight to the roommate and her boyfriend around 11:45…a quarter of an hour after I try to go to bed to maintain schedule.

See mess on bedroom floor and decide to clean up before sleep.

Stick pictures of and from nieces and nephews and kids I babysit on the backside of my door.  Also postcards, word-side up.

“…climbing mountains is man’s great folly.”  -Jack

Curl up in bed.

Midnight.

Try to sleep.

Roommate and boyfriend get loud.  Roommate laughs loudly, alone.  Doesn’t stop for literal minutes.

Blankets over head make no difference.

Cue intro to The Daily Show in other room.

Walls so thin.

Blast Neutral Milk Hotel, hoping that even though it is also noise, its relative consistency will be easier to fall asleep to than the sporadic conversation in the other room.

It isn’t.

Switch to Mountain Goats three songs in, a couple minutes after Roommate 2 crashes through the door with usual enthusiasm.

Frustrated.  Roll out of bed.  Turn on light.

Read Marie Curie lecture for Wednesday.  Write uninvited focus statement, hoping it provides extra credit.  Hoping it makes up for a days that heavy atmosphere pinned body into bed and kept self out of class.

Still noisy.

Stare at Adam Smith text.  Stare at stack of books.

Write half an email asking if I can write an essay like a screenplay.

Delete email.

This is Shimer.

Of course I can write an essay like a screenplay.

Maybe.

Hear roommate and boyfriend in bedroom.

Gross.

Write half a page of Thursday’s essay like a screenplay.

Hear roommate again.

Still gross.

Turn computer off.  Bed.  Sleep.

2:30 am.

Wake up with alarm at 7.

Shower.  Warm.

Dress.  Sweatpants.

Kitchen.  French press.

Roommate did not wash french press.  Asked her to.

Roommate did not wash french press.  Said she would.

Glare at french press.

Wash.

Almost put it where she could not reach.  Stopped by unsavory feeling of passive aggression.

Roommate comes out of bedroom.  Almost say something.  Too early.  Don’t start something when eyes barely open.

Make oatmeal.  Tea.

Bring into bedroom, planning to eat, drink and read Werner.

Thirsty.  Huge glass of water.

One sip.

20 minute nap.

Wake.  Oatmeal turned to paste.

No appetite.

Busy day ahead.

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One Response to Journal 11/29. Not Poem.

  1. Joey says:

    I lived through that when I was in college. I was so focused on my studies that I started to get very angry with my roommate and his “noise” and not caring about my small espresso press. Hang in there. Have a great holiday season. It’s all about Faith.

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