It appeared at 2 a.m. this morning, blatantly announcing its presence and positively buzzing with the awareness that I was helpless to defeat it. I looked at it and it looked back knowingly. I sighed and accepted defeat moments before it delivered the crushing blow I had seen coming all along.
It’s funny, you can never fully appreciate just how much the stomach flu or a migraine will truly pain you until you’re in the midst of it. You may look on at other sufferers and recall your struggles for a moment, certain, at the very least, that you’re glad you’re not them right now but you can’t truly appreciate the moment of solace you pray for in the simple act of vomiting, something you can hardly wait for while you desperately try to avoid it.
This was no different really. I had forgotten how hard it could strike; the debilitating nature of the blow; as incurable as the common cold and twice as miserable. The name may change over time, but the symptoms are the same. Then it was “Sophomore Slump” , now it’s “Senioritis”. But I really don’t care what it’s called. In fact, giving it a name feels like giving it a right to exist.
So, at two in the morning I went to bed; not because I was tired, or too dizzy to think. I went to bed because I was done. I crawled under my sheets ready to let the sting of failure comfort me like emptying the rotten contents of my stomach had before. Painful and liberating.
Wow… that’s very poetic. Not to mention the fact that you seemed to sum up exactly how I felt around midnight last night.
I am pretty sure that the hero project has killed whatever motivation I had left. I doubt you and I are the only ones to feel this way.
There have been many-a-time that I’ve just gone to bed because I was done. Somehow, I graduated, got into college, made it through several periods of midterms/research papers/finals. C’est normal. Sleep is good.
See you at graduation, bestie.