Rednecks and Couches

DISCLAIMER:  
I'm gonna rag on a redneck, and a couch. If you happen to love rednecks (or really, stereotypical rednecks) and couches, this blog may not be for you.

So it all started with a Facebook post, by my favourite local animal rescue, Heartland Humane Society. I love that place, I go volunteer and play with the puppies and donate dog food when I have money to buy it, and generally I just support and love everything they do. They are a great cause.

Speaking of, if you happen to love puppies, kittens, badgers, gerbils, turkeys, rabbits, fish, mice, rats, hamsters, guinea pigs, space ships, or breathing- please donate here: Heartland Humane

Okay, now that I'm done whoring myself out for puppies, back to my story.

This lovely organization and I are friends on Facebook, and they posted this:

Heartland Humane Society
Friday
Heartland is looking for a gently used love seat or small sofa (no more than 6 feet long) for our newly remodeled staff lounge. We would love if it is of a material that is easy to clean. Your donation is 100% tax deductable...

Hot DAMN I can do that! I want to help! Me! 

Little did I know my whimsicle fuckery reflex when it comes to puppies could and would put me into an awkward situation. I figured it was worth it, I'd seen some nice loveseats on Craigslist, many free, and I had a pick up truck.
What could go wrong? :D !

I looked on Craigslist and found a really nice one and I called the people asking if they still had it. They did, and they really wanted it gone, so I told them I'd come pick it up today if they'd let me. They were ecstatic, it was apparently on their porch because they had gotten a new one. I called Heartland and let them know I had one and was bringing it to them. They were also really excited- this seemed to be really nice for everyone!

 I picked up my friend Fari and we were off, driving to their house to pick up this couch. We followed the directions the couple had given us to get to their house. Which were really great, by the way.

Go past the hospital, turn left and then we're in a mobile community.

   Okay, fucktards- unless that mobile community is RIGHT off the fucking highway, and you have a huge flashing sign that says,
COUCH IS HERE!!!

Those are SHITTY directions, and I will not find you.  

 I kindly asked for a street name, and they gave me one and we were better off. 

I drove to the street and turned off and followed it quite a ways (thinking maybe we were wrong because he made it sound like we were going to drive through their trailer as soon as we turned off). After we got to a lumber yard, I saw a garage sale sign. He had said something about garage signs so I turned there. We went up and viola..

TRAILER PARK!

 

We were instructed to text him when we got to the park, so I had Fari text him and say we were in the park, and ask him where to go.
2 minutes: No response.
5 minutes: No response.
8 minutes: No response.
10 minutes: There's more signs, let's just go to that mobile home.
20 minutes: Sitting outside his fucking place with no response.

 His child was in the front yard, playing on the swingset and noticed we were parked outside calling their father. She came over and said, "Are you here to get the couch?" and I politely said yes. I then asked her if her parents were home. She said yes then went back to playing. I heard more voices...so I walked closer to the fence.

1...2.....3....6?
What the fuck what are they running a child smuggling ring? 

 

After two unsuccessful calls to their parents and feeling tired of standing around, I asked one of the children if they could perhaps get their father for me. I would have just gone and knocked on the door, but I would have had to wade through the four feet of trash that they had lying in front of their house. 

I got lost on the way to the dump the other day, I just should have come here and thrown the mattress in their yard. They wouldn't have noticed.

 

 Finally I got fed up with standing there listening to them scream and laugh and generally be annoying as fuck and walked through the gate to find a dog. 

 

The dog looked up and started barking and growling wildly.
It charged after me, and I was so scared I ran back through the gate and it followed me, barking loudly. I screamed and yelled to Fari to get back in the truck. The dog was gaining on me, snarling and barking.
I was pretty sure that fucker was going to get me. He jumped and knocked me over and started biting my shoulder. I screamed and punched him in the face repeatedly trying to get away...

 

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LOLZ JK!

The dog actually looked like this, and did nothing but pee on the porch and lick my hands in excitement.

  I knocked on the door and a big guy with a hairy face and wife-beater came out to greet me.

 

"Are you here to get the couch?"  

No, actually I'm here to give you free sex, wash your dishes, and polish your guns. Of course I'm here to get the couch you dipshit, answer your fucking phone!

"Well it's over here." 

Thanks I can see that, could you please get the three tons of trash off of it? That wasn't in the picture you posted, and I don't really want it.

"Do you want help getting it out?" 

Actually that'd be great, think you could grab an end?

 

He walked down the stairs and stood at the bottom, staring at Fari and I. This signaled to me that his help was actually going to be standing there and watching. That really helps I've heard, really motivates you. I grabbed one end and Fari grabbed the other. It was only moderately heavy, but it was also awkward and there was nowhere to grab a hold of it. We struggled to get it off the ground, and then walked towards the stairs. 

This is where we realized, OH HEY- THE COUCH DOESN'T FIT BETWEEN THE TRAILER AND THE GARAGE THING THAT'S MAYBE FOUR FEET AWAY FROM IT! We attempted to maneuver it to get it down the stairs and Fari almost dropped her end, and I almost dropped mine from the weight shift.  

All the while, wife-beater over there stood around watching us like we were being tested.

"IF YOU CAN'T LIFT IT AND MANEUVER IT DOWN THE STAIRS, YOU CAN'T HAVE MY COUCH, OR THE DIRTY DIAPERS THAT ARE HIDING INSIDE THE CUSHIONS."

He kept watching us struggle and then he decided to actually take action...."Turn it." he says. 

Well thank you shit head, we're trying but conveniently it hasn't worked any way we've tried to turn it so maybe you should SHOW us.

"No, turn it." he says.

OH MY GOD, FUCKING GENIUS! I SHOULD HAVE THOUGHT OF THAT! God I'm an idiot. Good thing we're not struggling to hold onto this couch, or that'd be really hard.

After wife-beater was done picking his butt he decided to help. He came over and took Fari's end, and he and I flipped the couch over and got it down the stairs. He then took the couch away from me and turned it over on the ground. I'm so glad, because it didn't have enough shit on it- it really needed to be rolled in the dirt. He rolled it over two times before picking it up. He walked three steps then dropped it on the ground. I was just staring at him. What the fuck was he doing?

He then looked over at Fari and said, "Well? You gonna grab it 'er what?" and she ran and grabbed the end and they carried it to the truck. He shoved it in the back and as he did he said, "Now if you find one million dollars stashed in the cushions of this, make sure to call me." 

 

I was really tempted to say, "It's more likely we'll find a dead cat or a bag of feces but I'll spare you and just throw it away instead of calling- you obviously don't know how to answer your cell anyway. Hint: it's the green button, that looks like A PHONE." 

 

I walked back to his wife, who had just come outside and was heavily pregnant with their 18th child, and their probably two year old son.  I handed her the 10 dollars for the couch and thanked her and walked back to the truck. She was really sweet, and very pretty, I wasn't sure why she enjoyed living in squalor, maybe she likes the smell of poop. I hear that's a popular fetish.

 

Fari and I drove away with the couch and dropped it off at the Humane Society, which was overjoyed to have it. The couch itself didn't have that nasty poo smell, but the area around the trailer sure did.

 

I must defend his actions though, it was really thoughtful of him to think of the feminist agenda. He obviously thought Fari and I were hardcore feminists, and that if he helped us we would be offended because it would then be apparent he thought we "Were just weak women with no backbone that can't lift a couch and should be in the kitchen making him a sandwich." I know he was just making sure we knew he didn't think that...

 

Well, everything but the sandwich part.

 

How to Deal with Meth

You know, meth heads get a really bad wrap. I mean people attribute the jitters, stealing, insomnia, mood swings, depression, suicidal thoughts...all to meth! Why is that?

Because meth is related to all those things, dumbfuck.

 Anyway, there are a ton of great things that meth can provide you! You've been looking at meth through cloudy glasses my friend! Just take a peek at these:

It'll be like having a cat, without the cat!
Well the piss part. Your apartment will soon smell like cat piss, but you won't have to deal with a cat! Isn't that great? Think of the opportunities- you can invite all your meth head friends over and have parties, INCLUDING Dan, who is allergic to cats. You can fool them all into thinking you have a cat when you really don't!

Learn to speak in a British accent, and everyone will think you're from England!
You'll have the accent, and the teeth to go with it! 

Sorry that was kind of a racist remark. 

Oh la la I shall go paint a mustache on my douche canoe.

  

You'll make great friends with the local authorities. 

If you redistribute your white gold, you'll make them even faster! 

All jokes aside,

Meth is fucking dangerous. Stay away from it.

What I really wanted to write about in this blog, was my meth head neighbors. While they are really not "legally" living there, they hang with my neighbor and are constantly moving in and out. I'm pretty sure they are homeless, and they just bum cigarettes and a couch off my neighbor Dean. 

Living next to them, I've had a run in or two with them. It's always a party...

 A METH INDUCED COMA PARTY.

First, I'd like to introduce you to Steve. He is my meth head in shining armor. He protects my apartment and watches out for my belongings like my pick-up truck and the potting soil I have on the front porch. I met him in a less than desirable fashion, multiple times, actually. Although he didn't remember meeting me the first time when we ran into each other the third time. I'll get to that eventually.

Steve is a homeless man that is apparently friends with Dean. He's about 5 foot 8' and has no teeth. His hair is falling out and he reeks of ammonia. He's always really jittery and bouncing about, I don't think he's capable of sitting still. I tell people about Steve and they go, 

"Oh, but how do you know he's on meth?"

Just a hunch, really I just like blaming people's problems on meth when really it's our government's faulty leadership.

FIGHT THE POWER.

The first time we met, I was getting out of my truck, coming home from work, when he was walking up to Dean's house. I'm pretty sure Dean was gone at work, but he banged on the door for a good five minutes while I unloaded my truck. He turned to look at me and goes, 

"Do you know where Dean is?"

 Yeah, I have a chip planted on the cape of his neck under his skin. Let me pull out my iTrack app on my phone. 

I politely told him that I didn't, and that I assumed Dean was at work. 

"Do you know when he'll be home?"

Yeah, when he's done at work. 

Once again I broke the news that I have no idea what Dean's doing since I'm not my neighbors keeper. 

"What are you doing?"

Wishing I had seen you coming and drove one more block down and waited until you left. 

After explaining that I just got off work and was going inside to work on some school projects, he asked.

"Can I just hang out at your place waiting for Dean?"

...Yeah I was just thinking that would be a great idea. I've always wanted to get stabbed to death!

I declined, saying that I didn't feel comfortable having a stranger in my house.

"Why not? Is it because I'm ugly? Do you not like me?"

Ugly? What are you talking about? I'm fighting the urge to rip off your clothes and fuck you on my kitchen table.

I just stared at him and then asked if he was hungry.

THIS WAS A MISTAKE.

He nodded. I went inside and got him a few granola bars I had from Costco and gave them to him. I said I hoped he had a nice day and went inside. 

I didn't hear from Steve for a while, I didn't know his name was Steve at that point, I just remembered him as Dean's crazy friend. About two months later it was maybe early December and I was getting ready to leave for Arizona to go home. He was sitting in a lawn chair as I carried my suitcase outside to the curb, waiting for my friend to pick me up and take me to the Hut shuttle. Steve waved to me and asked where I was going. I didn't want to talk to him, as I was still uncomfortable with him being around. I am just too nice and so much of a sucker that I just said, "Hello, I'm headed to Arizona for winter break."

He asked me, "Who's going to take care of your plants!? What about your truck? What if someone steals it?" 


I stared at him and said, "My roommate Brian will be here to watch over things while I'm gone."


He goes, "You can't trust men with nothing."

Hey maybe meth does teach you something.

 I told him that Brian is a great guy and knows what he's doing. Steve then asked if Brian and I were married and I said no, and then he asked if we were dating and I said, no. He told me that he was waiting for Dean to get home from work. I just nodded and then asked him to watch my stuff. He didn't have a jacket and it was fucking freezing. I went inside and got him one of my dinky couch blankets that I didn't need since I had a lot of them, and two granola bars.

THIS WAS ALSO A MISTAKE.

I walked out and handed him the stuff and he refused my blanket but took the granola bars. He said that I was an angel but he didn't feel right taking my blanket. I told him I had like 50 of them and he looked cold. He shook his head and said he was hot. So I just gave him the granola bars and threw the blanket back on the couch. I started walking down to the corner to meet my friend and he called out,

"I'll watch over your truck, your man, and your house while you're gone!"

As long as you don't rape my man Brian in the back of my truck while my house is on fire, we're all good, Steve. 

I didn't realize what I had done by in a way, befriending Steve. I ended up forgetting about him because I didn't see him for months. Although I kept coming home and finding weird things on my porch. I found out this was Steve. Later though- after a weird night he was hopped up and angry about Norma Jean. 

 "You mother fucker you come open this door right now! I swear to god I'll break down this door and kick your ass. Get out here you coward pussy fuck!"

I'm sitting here on my couch writing a paper while some weird ass bangs on my door screaming profanities. 

 What would YOU do?

I did what any normal, logical person would do:

I opened the fucking door.

He kept screaming at me for a few minutes saying things like, "Where's Dean!? Get Dean out here now!"

I assured him that Dean did, in fact, not live here.

He accused me of lying, saying that I needed to quit hiding Dean and that if Dean didn't get his ass out there in like two seconds he was gonna come in. I pointed to the door next to me, where Dean actually lived, and told him that the man he was looking for was behind door number two. He stopped screaming. He then became really sad and apologized for causing me trouble. He introduced himself as Steve, and asked my name. I gave it (probably a mistake) and he shook my hand. He then took a sniff of the air (I was baking) and asked what I was making. I was making bread, but I didn't have any yet, so I went inside and got three scones I had made up and gave them to him. I told him to please stay out of trouble and to know which door he's banging on before he does it. 

He just looked at me with huge eyes and asked if I liked my stuff. 

Then it hit me. This was the guy leaving things on my porch. 

This made no sense to me at all. Meth is so weird. He was accusing me of hiding Dean when he knew I didn't live with Dean?  Did he just think that I lived with Dean? His brain is probably so messed up he didn't know what the fuck was going on. 

So far I'd gotten a weird rocking chair that smelled like corpses and a couch. He'd also left me a basket of dying mums he found somewhere. I didn't know who was leaving these things, and would text Brian a picture going, "What the fuck, is this yours?" Brian would send back, "O__o?"

If I didn't take them inside, within a few days they would disappear. I assumed it's because he realized I didn't want them. Anyway, now that we had been formally introduced, I knew who was leaving weird shit on my porch.

After meeting I got a few different items from Steve, he would ask for an exchange of food, his favorite being granola bars.  

He brought me a lawn chair, a green one, that he claimed matched my plants. He brought me a normal sitting chair without the padding on the back, and he found me some plastic pots that had been abandoned and thought I could use them. So by being nice to him, I think I've gained his respect. 

Oh dear lord, but what about when the meth heads decide to go through and ransack shit in search for money to buy more meth?

Ironically, we had someone go through and break the windows in the cars in my neighborhood a few months back. They stole things out of the cars, and I had the police knock on my door and talk to me. Yes, my truck had been out there, no, my truck was fine. Although my neighbors Suburban was broken into. Later I ran into Steve and he said something like, "I told them not to hurt you cause you were nice." 

I had no idea what the fuck he was talking about, but I'm equating it to that. Given that I had left my GPS in there and my iPod, had they ransacked my vehicle they would have taken them. I don't leave things in my car anymore. 

-----------------------------------------------------------

Not so nice encounters of the meth-induced kind:

When they come knocking at your door and you answer and there's three weirdos you don't know bouncing around going,

"SWEET JESUS DO YOU HAVE A LIGHTER?!"

When you hear scary crashing sounds outside and are home alone, peek out your door and notice that they threw bicycles all over the place outside and kicked over Dean's garbage cans.

Numerous times I've been asked if I have a smoke, they can crash at my house, or the occasional "So I was hungry so I picked this rotting orange out of your garbage can and ate it is that okay?"

 Which always leads to me giving them more granola bars. I've also taken to leaving my cans outside in a paper bag for them to recycle and get money.

Moral of the story: Be nice to everyone, even if they are not the most socially acceptable. That way when their friends go through your neighborhood and break windows, they won't break yours.

  

The Stages of Sleep Deprivation

We've all been there- the couple of days when you decide, "Hey, I'll just pull an all nighter to get that paper done. No big deal."

Yeah, no big deal.

How about six all nighters?

It has come to my attention that there are distinct stages of sleep deprivation. I have not necessarily been through them all, but in my six nights of not sleeping I've been through quite a few of them, and I've found out first had that it's not worth it. Yet I keep doing it. Because I don't feel like I have a choice. 

Day #1 Without Sleep:

After one day without sleep, it's not really much different from college life in general, except that you feel a little more run down. I was yawning a lot and I felt like I was sluggish and unresponsive. I felt a little slow in my responses and it took more than a few seconds to think up a response to people's inquiries. I spent that day doing my seven papers and attempting to study Biochemistry. It was unsuccessful. I did however, get papers done. This made me feel much better about my body's suffering.

 

Day #2 Without Sleep:

After two days without sleep, at this point it becomes a whole new ballpark. I had promised myself I was going to sleep but it didn't happen. I stayed up all night again doing more papers. What's funny is during the day I was doing papers too. I just wasn't getting far enough fast enough. I also had like seven papers assigned at the same time, that makes it a little harder. I was now very slow in my responses to people's questions, and my sentences became a little slurred and slow but really I was still cognitive and fine. I could easily walk a straight line and my work wasn't suffering. Still worth it, or so I felt. It became a nice nightly ritual to stare at the bed and think, "I should really sleep..." but I never did, because I looked at my computer and then decided it was more important to get that synthesis paper done. 

Symptoms of day two without sleeping was that my hands started shaking a little- all the time. It was obnoxious because I had to use razor blades in lab, and pipette shit into wells on agarose gels. All of these things take steady hands. I ended up fucking up more than one gel and spilling ethanol on my book. Not the best day, but it wasn't as bad as the failing grade I would have gotten had I not done my paper. Day two was not that bad, 48 hours in without sleep isn't THAT bad, although I think you're pretty much close to being legally intoxicated or something. 

Day #3 Without Sleep:

This is where things started getting fun. My ecology professor assigned another paper and I was only done with four of my seven and they were all coming up, deadlines approaching really quickly. I ended up staying up all night again to write my papers. I took a one hour nap-like thing before class, I just felt god awful after doing that. It felt like someone had slapped me in the face with an electric eel. I pushed through, this is why Josh calls me "Juggernaut" because I'm like a tank and I just keep pushing. If you've never experienced three days with practically no sleep- you start hallucinating. 

My hallucinations weren't that bad honestly (to start with). They were ants. Apparently my brain decided to take all the anguish it was feeling without much needed precious sleep and turned it into ants. They were EVERYWHERE. On my desk, walls, computer, and on me! Of course when I'd slap them I'd realize they weren't there. Which made it all the more frustrating because I'd go after these ants and they wouldn't be there, which would confuse my poor brain even more. I spent the night writing my papers and working on a review guide for the class I teach. I didn't get as far as I'd have liked, while also keeping myself semi-focused mentally by talking to my friend Terry that works night shifts. 

My head was constantly pounding and I had really bad balance. My feet were swollen from never getting off of them. You can't walk three days without lying down and letting them rest and not have them become upset. I'll tell you that. I took another twenty minute nap in the MU that day before work. God I love the MU. Anyway, my ability to form cognitive sentences was diminishing and I was having problems solving simple issues at work. 

"Um...we're out of black table cloths, what do you want us to do?"

Normally I'd say, "Just use white then, no big deal."

Instead- I just stood there looking at Mo like I was crazy. I had no idea what to do, I was lost in my own little sleep deprived world. It was hard to make the tables straight and my chair angles were awful. Work was suffering now and I felt bad- but I was only 5 out of 7 papers done. I still had more. 

Day #4 Without Sleep:

If you've never seen scary shit in your life, like horror sci-fi ghost story shit. Here's where you'll start seeing it. By day four I was paranoid out of my life. I felt like around every corner was a pit I'd fall into. I couldn't focus, but I couldn't sleep either. I laid down and my brain said, "No, asshole, I do believe you still have three papers do to, since you now have another one for your Plant Lab Techniques class. I suggest you do it." and I would lay there and be near tears, waiting to fall asleep- but I wouldn't.

I started seeing more than just ants. At the bottom of the stairs there was always this black lump in the dark. For some reason I can't explain- I wouldn't turn on the lights. They hurt my eyes, and I felt like if I turned on the lights "they" would see me.  


Has anyone reading my blog played Minecraft? Well my old roommate, Brian, did. They had monsters called Enderman, and they wouldn't attack you until you looked at them. Well that's what the lump at the bottom of my stairs would do. I'd look down at the door, waiting for it to burst into flames or something, and see that looming black lump at the bottom of the stairs. I don't know what my brain was trying to conceive was down there, but it was there. If I stared at it long enough it would begin to move. It would start vibrating and begin to rock back and forth. Then an arm would reach up to the stair above where it was. Then if I kept staring, which I always would because I was too tired to realize that I was falling into my own brain's trap, it would stand fully to a tall thin figure. 


I would continue to stare at it for a good 60 seconds before it would start climbing the stairs towards me. Quickly, mind you. I wasn't quick enough to realize it before this thing was half-way up the stairs and I would run into my room and lock the door. I would sit there and wait, holding my breath, waiting for that thing to start ransacking the door. It never did though, because it didn't really exist. I began to hear voices, and it was like a battle to concentrate because I would hear legitimate conversations next to me. All my days had blurred together and I was unsure that it was Monday, other than the fact that I had the day off because it was Memorial Day. 


I don't have anyone that's ever home, Brian is gone in Portland, and Lilly just is never here. I'm alone nearly all the time and that makes it really easy for your brain to go crazy and think up great shit. If you ever get to four days without sleep, I suggest you stop- and go to sleep- because it only gets worse. 

Day #5 Without Sleep:

By this point, my body had understandably decided that I was never going to sleep again. I looked like a mess. I seriously looked like I'd just gotten into a car accident. My hair had not been brushed in five days, I'd showered, thankfully, but I hadn't taken care of myself otherwise. I brushed my teeth, took showers, put deodorant on...but I didn't wear make-up, didn't brush my hair, didn't give a shit. I had (still have) huge rings under my eyes and my face looked pale and sickly. I went into work and before I did I rinsed my face with water and pumped myself up on caffeine so that I'd look semi normal.  

My hallucinations had come to a steady line of the same bullshit every time I went certain places, but didn't get worse. I began to feel...better. .I felt like I had just slept 10 hours and was ready to go. I had energy and wasn't groggy. Apparently my body had dipped into the reserves of my soul and had begun feeding on it in order to survive. Anyway, it was alright, because I had six of my seven papers done. I could sleep peacefully that night knowing that I had done all my work!

Just kidding.

That day we were going out into the field for Plant Ecology. Guess who got assigned yet another paper? I was displeased, as I was to the point I had to focus REALLY hard to walk, and I had given up driving because I realized that it was unsafe to do so. I hope you all realize these weren't little dinky one page papers double spaced. These were massive mother fuckers and the majority weren't allowed to be double spaced. I noticed recently that at about day five I became infatuated with doors. 

Yes, doors.

But that doesn't make much sense, does it? Well if you came into my house, I have four doors in my house, three of which are normally open since Lilly doesn't live here. I would leave the bathroom door open, my closet door open, my bedroom door open, and if it was really hot I'd open Lilly's door to let in some air. I began to close them. I was legitimately afraid of open doors. I didn't consciously do it. I just did. I was afraid of what was behind them, all the time. It carried over to work, I didn't like walking by closets that were dark and the doors were open. I was paranoid and my vision had tunneled. 

You're probably thinking I'm a stupid asshole that should just sleep at this point. I couldn't. I really, really tried. I laid in bed for three hours, deliberately ignoring my papers. I just wanted to sleep, I wanted nothing more than to sleep. I tried taking some Benedryl because my friend suggested that, since it made me fall asleep last time I took it. That didn't work.  It just made me really dizzy and feel like I was going to throw up. 

Symptoms of five day sleep deprivation:

- Shaky hands, no balance, and slow response time.

- No response to pain, I cut myself on a knife and I didn't even register it while staring at my bleeding hand. Never did. I put a band-aid and while it would have been a sharp pain that stung, it didn't. I felt a dull echoing ache- but no actual pain. I don't even know what day this was because my days blurred together and I am unsure of what day it is. I took my bandaid off and the cut wasn't there, sooo I may have imagined cutting myself too. 

 - Hallucinations: Ants, creepy thin men at the bottom of the stairs, movements out of the corners of my eyes, door knobs twisting, the fun shit.

- Body aches and pains (gone by about day 4).

- Slowed reaction time and very stressed responses to questions. It took probably quadruple the amount of time to complete a simple response for someone at work or in class. I was slurring my words and I had no idea why I was repeating myself, but I did.

- Body's resistance to sleep. It's as though it had forgotten how to sleep. I had taken quick short naps but my body would wake up shortly after for whatever reason, and refuse to go back to sleep. 

 - More I cant think of. 

Day #6 Without Sleep:

This was by far the worst day of my life. I was to the point where I was falling apart. I couldn't think, but I had done all but one paper. One. The biggest and baddest, but I was done enough that I felt like I could sleep. I took a short 3 hour nap today. (Yes this is today, and yes 3 hours is short.) 


I had the worst nightmares and sleep paralysis I've ever had in my life. I dreamed of fire and death and loud noises. I have a fear of loud noises anyway, and in my head all I heard was terrible grinding noises and screaming. So much screaming. I became fully aware and awake but couldn't move. I've had this happen before when I'm sleep deprived. I couldn't open my eyes and I felt like I had hands touching me all over. I was having a fucking panic attack in my sleep, and couldn't get up.


This definitely didn't make sleeping any easier. I just want to feel better. I really do. Why can't I sleep? I don't know. But I'm going to try (again) after this to see if I can. If I can't, it's time to go to the student health center. Something I should have done about 4 days ago, but figured I didn't need to because there are other people that do it worse- but they drink energy drinks constantly. I would drink coffee but I would often go 6 - 7 hours between caffeine intake which nearly killed me. 


I'm still trying to sort out what I've written and what I haven't. I don't have any idea what I wrote, as I don't remember writing it, but I've already had two handed back and I got As on both. So either I'm very good at writing while brain dead, or the teachers pity me. All my days have blurred together and I kind of remember going to work, kind of remember seeing people, kind of remember living. But not really.

I had no idea how much I needed someone. Just someone to tell me that it's going to be okay, that they love me, and that even though I'm borderline psychotic right now, and an insomniac, I'm still a good person. I keep telling myself it's okay- "fuck everyone I don't need them. Don't want to talk to me? Fine- delete you off facebook, and quit talking to you." That attitude. This is a bad angle, do not take it.

 Appreciate your abilities.

Take nothing for granted.

Waste no time unless desired.

Keep pushing.

Here we are, Juggernaut.