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Routine

I think I'm getting a cold. It has to be from sitting at my desk for four hours at a stretch every evening, with the air conditioner shooting cold air into my face. Still, it's better than the sort of "am I muggy or not" air I'd have to deal with if I didn't have the AC. It's not as bad (yet) as NYC summer humidity, but the cold air keeps me from falling asleep while I'm writing.

That's another problem I'm having. My routine has settled down to this:

get up at six, go over critiques
have breakfast (either in the room or the cafeteria)
workshop from 9am to 1pm
lunch with group in cafeteria (although today a few of us went back to the Indian restaurant)
go to room and read
MASSIVE POWER NAP FROM WHICH I'M PRACTICALLY UNABLE TO ROUSE MYSELF
dinner in the cafeteria, if I haven't overslept
write up critiques
take a short walk around campus
write until midnight
sleep

As you can see, there's a big-ass nap in the middle of the day, and I can't get rid of it. No matter what I do, every day at around 3pm, I keel over like I've just taken a fistful of Ambien, and sleep for three-four hours. Hard sleep, not a light nap - I wake up with strange lines from the sheets on my face, and it takes me a few minutes to orient myself. Ok, so what? As long as I'm here it's no problem, but I'm worried about what's going to happen with Me VS. The Power Nap of DOOM when I start my job again. I doubt anyone at work will be too happy if I suddenly crawl under my cubicle desk and start drooling and snoring. Although, I suppose it'd be rather amusing the first time.

Yeah, I know the AC probably is directly related to my new weird sleeping habits. But this is my routine now, and I don't want to fuck with it. I'm finally writing at a decent pace, so I'll leave things as is for the next three weeks.

Back to the story.

Tags:

Marine Autumn

I owe you marine autumn
With dankness at its roots
and fog like a grape
and the graceful sun of the country;
and the silent space
in which sorrows lose themselves
and only the bright crown
of joy comes to the surface.

--Pablo Neruda.


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