These walls are paper thin. Every couple minutes I hear another frustrating slam of a door or ear-splitting giggle of a group of girls or aggravating roar of a drunk boy showing off.
I roll and writhe in this, still, unfamiliar bed. My body contorts into the most intricate positions but none of these bring about sleep. My mind alights with anger and annoyance; I am so tired, so why can’t I just sleep?
All day I have felt like I could fall asleep at any moment – standing-up cooking, sitting down writing, strolling around campus – but now that it comes to the time when I am in bed, sleep seems the farthest away from me that it has been all day. Sleep taunts me, I know how good it would feel to peacefully slip into a deep slumber and wake-up the next day refreshed and energised but every night I am robbed of this possibility. Instead, I spend fitful nights awake, thinking profound and anxious thoughts about the days to come and growing more and more infuriated with myself for not being able to perform this basic human function; sleep.
A mental clock in my head periodically calculates the amount of time I have left before I will have to get up for classes. I know that I will have yet another day tomorrow when I will drag myself blearily from task to task, never being able to give my full concentration as my head will loll lazily to one side, longing for my pillow.