(This was inspired by the APE book
as a whole, as well as the essay Death by
Lu Hsun.)
3:30 A.M.
I
sit at my desk on a finals week Tuesday night, and it is 3:30 in the morning. I
open a book of essays, and flip to one on the topic of death. Perfect, I thought. This is totally representative of how I feel this week. Finals are
hitting me hard, and no matter how much coffee, Red Bull, and Mountain Dew that
I consumed I could barely stay awake. I have been awake since, since, oh crap,
when was the last time I went to bed? Sometime Sunday. perhaps? I honestly have
no idea. My caffeine supply is running low, and my roommate has already gone to
bed. I cannot turn on a light, so I aim the light of my laptop on the pages of
the book. Why did I choose to read this essay of all essays? It is so
depressing, talking about ghosts and funeral protocol. Maybe I chose it because
it was short, and I the sooner I finish it the sooner I can go to sleep. No.
Sleep is for the weak. Woman up Alicia, this is college, the real deal. You
aren’t paying thousands of dollars a year to fall asleep on your homework, and
the world’s most famous novelists didn’t get famous by sleeping, they got
famous by reading and writing. I don’t feel any potential to be famous right
now. I feel failure, sadness, caffeine withdrawal, and the DEATH of my hopes
and dreams sitting right in front of me. Oh the irony…
One page, down.
Two pages, complete. Three pages, accomplished. But that fourth page. Oh, that
fourth page. Every essay that I have read in “The Art of the Personal Essay” I
have ended up falling asleep during reading, even when I wasn’t this tired, and
that is why I chose to sit at my desk instead of in bed. That fourth page
however, really made it tempting for me to just fall asleep with my head down
on the desk. No, Alicia, you must press on. Finish strong, you can do it. And,
I did it. I finished the first APE essay that I have read completely all the
way through and not ended up with the book on my face the next morning. My
biggest failure in my nonfiction writing class has finally turned to success!
My dreams have been brought back to life, and now, because I read that essay
without going to sleep, I can do anything! I felt this grand rush of energy and
satisfaction, a rush that let me move two feet over to crawl into my little dorm
bed. It was my own personal fluffy, soft cushiony marshmallow pool of comfort. It
was pure sleepytime bliss.
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