The things I can find comfort in sometimes makes me feel weird but never surprise me. I feel the same comfort and familiarity in lying in my bed with the sound of loud hip hop making its way in from the party outside as someone else might feel when they hear someone sing the same lullaby their mom sang to them when they were young.
In all honesty it might as well be a lullaby. I’m so tired it’s unreal and I only have myself to blame. I find comfort in making myself stay up as late as I possibly can. When I was little It felt like it was impossible to sleep. Even after my parents had gone to sleep and all the lights in the house were out I’d lie on my white princess bed and think. I taught myself a lot during those nights. I realized that I’d die one day while avoiding sleep in my pink and white room with my sisters sleeping in matching beds next to me.
At that time, I lived in a house that was painted pink. Everyone I cared about and depended on lived right there with us. My grandma, my uncles, my parents, and my siblings. Eventually my great grandma moved in with us too. If that wasn’t enough to excite a second grader, the fact that we had a pool did.
The one Christmas we spent there was the best I’d ever had. We got more toys than any child could possibly ask for. We pass by that house sometimes, it’s painted a dull brown color now.
With every hour that passes while I’m staying up until ridiculous hours I’m reminded of all the good times we had at that house. Sometimes I feel like waking my sisters up to relive these memories with me. I never do.
I hope I find a healthy way to feel connected to that part of my life, because this sleeping schedule isn’t going to work when school starts again. ♦