Sleeping in Harlem, at the start of the academic year

I don’t know if you all know this but I live right next to City College of NY’s main campus. Literally. Nearly every room in my apartment has windows opening up to the campus which has beautiful and interesting architecture and a pretty lawn with picnic tables and nice big overhanging trees, much like the rest of Convent Avenue.

One wall of windows in my bedroom faces one of two main entrances to the campus, which is closest to the A/C/B/D subway stop at 145th street. So it’s not like I’m not accustomed to the noise.

I didn’t sleep last night until about 5 or so. There was a lot of noise outside. Being on the third floor does not provide enough of a buffer that drunken laughter on a normally deathly-quiet residential street at 3 in the morning does not somehow make it up to my window. Also, the scratchy walkie talkies from the security detail for the college made for a huge production last night. I think it had something to do with the drunk kids. But really, I think that when I am trying to so hard, focusing so much of my energy on sleeping, every little obstacle presents itself as another mountain range to overcome. So I must have done the mental equivalent of a full three circles around the globe last night.

So, once I finally do get to sleep after I have force fed myself the most innocuous small meal possible [toast, tea], I can tell it’s a deep sleep. It’s, dare I say it, good sleep.

And at 7:30, my eyes split open effortlessly and I am awash in the weepings of a man, somewhere outside my window, loudly asking passers-by “Did you know that Jesus died on the cross for you?” and then, unfazed by their silence, asks even more belligerently, “Would you like some literature about the LORD?” At one point, he asks someone if he would like a bible and the man says, “No, I have mine right here.” and he pats his heart. The would-be disciple isn’t sure what to make of this and extends a copy of the bible to the man anyway. He must think the other man was reaching for it because he lets go and it falls with a weighty thud. They both stare at it for a bit, blink at each other, at the bible, and then I look away.

At this moment, I throw my blankets back and resign myself to being awake.

The good part about insomnia is that I don’t feel tired during the day either. So today, I’m trying to go without coffee and seeing how I last. So far I’ve been able to make jokes and conduct myself decently in public, with the usual gamut of idiots surrounding me.

Kudos for me.

I am weeping.

Oh my God. OH MY GOD. I am about to head out to the 24 hour Rite Aid at 110th street to buy me some three bottles of Tylenol PM or a horse tranquilizer so I can sleep.

The moment I feel a bit sleepy, I close my book or power down the laptop or turn off the TV or say goodbye to whoever is on the other side of the phone. I turn off the lights. I snuggle with my bed. And then I lie there, blinking into the dark.

The lights in my room have flickered on and off and on and off and on and off on six separate occassions since 11 PM and it is now 2:22 AM. I would give ANYTHING to be able to nap for half an hour now, Lord, am  I sorry I bitched about that earlier.

I even caught myself doing push ups just to achieve exhaustion. It didn’t work. Not because I’m particularly strong or anything.

But I’ve accomplished a lot. I’m about halfway through my book now despite its tediousness. I also figured out which car I’m going to get in the next month. And I caught up with a fair number of people. And I’ve posted on this blog twice about not sleeping. I gave myself a pedi. I’m considering the mani now.

AND. OMG. I KILLED A HOUSE CENTIPEDE [if you've never heard of these things, google it NOW-- it is like an ordinary centipede on steroids in the mind of the most sick and twisted individual ever, maybe that guy who made Sin City, perhaps]. It’s the first time I’ve ever seen a real grown-up one in NY which is as good a sign as any that I SHOULD LEAVE. IMMEDIATELY. Before they ever touch me. OMG. It was DISGUSTING. It was just running around on my windowsill like it owned the joint and I just stared at it thinking, “Oh, hells-to-the-no.” [!!!!!] It was possibly worse than the biggest cockroach I’ve ever seen or [possibly] could have imagined. Then I jumped out of bed, pulled on some pants, grabbed some bug spray and drowned that son of a bitch in poison, and left it there to soak up all that poison-y goodness so that once I did pick it up, I wouldn’t feel the sickening crunch of its disgusting exoskeleton underneath the mountain of tissue papers I used to finally pick it up, post-marination. But now I’m high off of lemon-scented roach killer spray. And I want to phone the exterminator NOW if not ten minutes ago– Lord help that man for giving me his personal cell phone number. Idiot. Like I wouldn’t use it.

I have no clue now how I’m going to sleep tonight. Every tiny shadow that moves in my room [with my oscillating fan on] is suspicious as evidence for a house centipede now. Or possibly hundreds of them.

You want to know the worst thing about house centipedes and roaches? THEY ARE SO DAMN FAST. You move to get the spray and they are gone. They have skee-daddled. And now you’re left, fairly convinced that they are crawling up your legs now, walking all over your face in the middle of the night, having a veritable party in your fucking sinuses.

I am oh-my-God-ing all over the place now.