Saturday, March 27, 2010

Language is the mother of thought, not its handmaiden.

These days, I consider myself lucky if I am able to maintain a sleep-schedule consisting of two nights of slumber per week. If PBS released a miniseries based on the present state of my life, it would be called (in Allison Foley's words) "Three Months, No Bed". The dark, scurrying creatures that I tend to see out of the corners of my eyes when I have missed a night of rest are now in my line of vision at all times, even when my sleep-deficit manages to reach something reminiscent of a lull. Adorn one of the aforementioned beings with a Noh mask and, well, you would quite possibly end up with this:

The trivial aspects of my life have acquired a novel significance. I don't know if that has anything to do with a general lack of sleep. I'd like to think that the two are somehow related; I really need to unearth a reason to justify my refusal to go to bed, as I must continue to do so in order to survive this semester. I have been gleaning mirth from simple things, such as the notion that I can watch "Stripes" online, for free, over and over again, until I pass out.

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