A faint beeping permeates the air around me. It’s a bit of a distraction, I’ll admit. A hallmate’s alarm? I cannot know for sure. I consider getting up to knock on the noisemaker’s door, because after all, it’s 5:16 AM. But the comfort of my bed precludes me from doing so, and I continue to lay, to wonder, to write.
The wind outside is howling. The sounds of objects being tossed around, the gusty gales seething through the branches and around the trunks of the big trees out in the courtyard. I can only imagine how the countless squirrels I see scurrying around outside my window all day are dealing with this storm. Are they clutching for dear life, or safely sheltered in a nest or tree?
A momentary lull in the wind exposes the fact that the beeping has ceased. It’s now nearly perfectly silent. No more pit-pat of the rain, no more whining of the wind. Peace has descended upon this moment, 5:20 AM, and it seems that I am the only one awake in the world.
Yet, the wind picks up, its unstoppable fury a reminder that other forces are active in a world that had been momentarily still. A ruffle of papers is audible through my wall. Combined with the slamming of a door on two unusual late-night trips to the bathroom, these noises lead me to believe that my neighbor must have an assignment due today. I wonder whether I have anything due today, but promptly shrug it off. I am still in relaxation mode, after a lazy weekend at home recovering from last week’s stresses.
Laying down in bed right before bedtime is probably one of the times most conducive to blogging, provided one has a bit of energy left in him and doesn’t immediately fall asleep. There’s something about it that makes it so cozy, warm, and contemplative. The perfect conditions under which the heart and mind can express themselves.
Expression, expression, expression. You silly thing, you. I can use you to unburden myself of the mental stresses that have been haunting me since I stopped updating my blog regularly. Let’s start with something fresh: this weekend.
It was so perfectly out of the ordinary, yet parts of it seemed as if it were my everyday. The long drive to Newport on Friday night (1hr 45min) was contemplative yet energetic: a spin-and-a-half through my mixtape had me singing aloud to everything from The Flaming Lips to Train. Ah! Train makes such wonderful driving music.
My brief time in Newport should have been more awkward than it was. Indeed, it actually turned out to be quite amusing. I acted just as I had wanted: in an affable and gentlemanly manner. My actions (and, perhaps more importantly, my reactions) brought into sharp relief the progress I’ve made since coming to Wesleyan in terms of sociability, personality, and tolerance.
Yet, I’m stuck with the residue of mixed messages and confused expectations. Uncertain hints; vague clues as to underlying intentions. It’s like the Cold War Kids say: “Now hang me up to dry, you’ve wrung me out too, too, too many times.”
I’d expand on this topic, but I can feel the creeping hold of sleep beginning to steal my remaining energy. My eyes are getting heavier.
In fact, I am finding it increasingly hard to focus; even keeping my eyes trained on the text crawling across the screen with each movement of my fingers is difficult. I think, dear friends, that it may be time to call it a night, and leave my musings for another time.
Yes, a clever idea, indeed. Good night, all.
