The computer screen’s white light was numbing my mind.
There was a dull silence, ringing in the office.
Perhaps that persistent “eeee” is actually a mixture of overhead lighting and bulky electronic devices.
An email notification invaded the bottom right corner of my screen.
Then the familiar humming sound of the copy machine rocked me to sleep…
WHAM. I caught my head with the palm of my hand again. Sunday, 4 hours of sleep. Monday, 4 hours of sleep. Tuesday… Tuesday? Rotten Tuesday had turned to an even more rotten Wednesday without a blink of sleep. I’ll never escape my ol' college habits.
Just make it till noon and then post-lunch, things will be better.
After pulling an all-nighter because of both school and life, I sat at my kitchen table and watched the washed out sun rise from the fog. It was a relatively anti-climactic sunrise, but at that moment I was able to concoct my master plan: work on a few projects until lunch and then take a nap in Central Park during my hour break. I would be rejuvenated enough to make it a (somewhat) productive day.
Well, easier said that done.
The buzzing in my ears seemed too loud.
It was 11:57am.
Screw it – close enough to noon.
As I walked through the 5th Avenue crowds, a sudden drop in blood sugar had me looking for the closest bench. This happens when too much coffee, speed walking, and no sleep meet at the intersections of 59th and 5th. So I flopped into a chair and leaned on a metal table outside of FAO Schwartz and the Apple Store. Only a few days ago I’d been dining across the street at the Plaza…
I bit greedily into an apple.
The table was cold and felt marvelous. I bent over, resting my chin on my forearm, as heavy eyes were getting heavier. And then somewhere between thinking about the Plaza brunch and biting that apple, I passed out Snow-White-style on the metal table.
And then I woke up.
A noise had suddenly catapulted me from a confusing dream to the streets of Manhattan. I jolted upright with an
embarrassing, twitchy jump.
Maybe no one saw?
An old French couple starred at me as though I had two heads.
Yeah. People saw.
They were sitting at my table, eyes narrowed and mouths slightly ajar. I heard the woman say something about “Ah-mar-e-cans,” though I couldn’t guarantee it was derogatory. (Then again, if I could speak another language, I would have said something to my husband about the strange narcoleptic 20-something at our lunch table.)
About 30 minutes had gone by since my tumble into dream world, and something most unfortunate seems to have happened:
I’d fallen asleep, sprawled across a table on 5th Avenue.
With a bitten apple still in my hand.
But even more unfortunately…
…I seemed to have been drooling.
Then, to the amusement of my onlookers,
I began to giggle like a true crazy person.
And I finished my apple.
And I went back to work.
My new French friends
(Editor's Note: 1. Don't worry, it was the middle of day 2. All projects were completed at the office and 3. I promised myself I'd get in bed before 2am. So goodnight peps.)