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Insomnia Adventures in my Friend's Spanish Apartment

Mostly inane, but possible TW existential angst.

So I'm staying with my friend in Spain until tomorrow, and last night I was sleeping on his couch, but couldn't actually sleep because the motherfucking crossing signal kept beeping like every minute. UNNECESSARY.

So then I read some of The Historian, which I've read before, but years ago, and it actually creeped the fuck out of me in the dark in the living room of a strange apartment in a strange country. So that didn't help. I tried doing whitenoise in my earphones, and ended up getting a couple hours of sleep, but then one of his roommates got up to go to work, then the other one got up to go to work, then I gave up and watched the most recent episode of Hannibal. Then he went to work, and I tried to be awake and do things like working on my thesis, but then I went to the bathroom and swore to god I heard a door creeeeeaaaaak open in the apartment. So I'm like, shit. Okay, maybe it's one of the roommates? but they definitely all went to work. Shit. Maybe it's not in this apartment? It's downstairs? But it sounds so close. Shit. So I went into the kitchen and took a huge knife and started carrying it around with me, and then disappeared to go to coffee with him on his break from work, where he tells me you can definitely hear the apartment downstairs in the bathroom and it does sound creepily close.


I was going to do stuff in town but I was so tired I decided to come back and take a nap. This time, I deadbolt the door so I KNOW no one else is inside, settle down on the couch, watch the new Orphan Black, then am about ready to take a nap before meeting him for lunch when someone starts opening the door.

It's his other roommate, who only speaks Spanish, which I speak one-year-of-Spanish-in-8th-grade-plus-actually-good-French-kind-of-Spanish (plus my 8th grade Spanish was Latin American Spanish, not Spain-Spanish), who is now in the kitchen with the radio on, singing.

No nap for me. First world problems to the nth degree, but actually I'm so tired and stressed I might cry right now...and I have to figure out how to call a taxi, get to the train station, get to Madrid, get to the airport on the Madrid metro, and navigate through the Spanish airport by myself tomorrow, dragging a heavy duffel and backpack because I left my reasonably sized roller bag in the US and RyanAir is THE WORST about checking them (as in it costs more than the ticket). And because I'm worried about getting sleep, I probably won't. BLERGH. I have become the worst at sleeping this month, and I have no idea why. I don't have actual class anymore, so I should be golden, but before I got here I somehow managed to get myself on a 4 am-12 pm sleep schedule. What the fuck, brain, look at your life, look at your choices.

Also part of the insomnia was a terrifying existential spiral of dread about mortality. Fuck yeah Easter Sunday.

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