I Need To Stop Getting Up At Two In The Afternoon

(I can’t even complain of having a comfy bed. I have a mattress with my clothes piled on it because I can’t be bothered to sort them into a proper place)

For the last few days, by which I mean ‘week’, I’ve been getting up at ridiculously late times, such as the aforementioned 2pm. This isn’t so much a problem for me as an individual – gods know I’ve been far more nocturnal than this before – but it’s a bit of an issue when I try to interact with other human beings. For instance, in looking for a flat, there are literally three hours in a day where I can go to flats or talk to people about flats.

This has also screwed with a lot of my writing projects; this blog, for instance, often gets updated when my body thinks it’s about time for elevenses, and my target of 2,500 words a day feels incomplete if I don’t write that much by midnight each day, even though that only gives me ten, as opposed to twenty-four, to write.

The upshot of this is that I’ve been far more insular recently. I can’t talk to my friends because it 4am and they’re asleep; I can’t go out with people because I’m going to bed at seven in the morning. And while this isn’t an inherently bad thing – I’m currently learning Rise Against’s 1000 Good Intentions on bass, for instance, it’s only adding to the nagging sense of isolation and social worthlessness that is a normal response to living amongst your friends for a year, before you’re suddenly chucked back home and you feel like you’re thirteen again.

But would I really be more outgoing if I was keeping a more regular sleeping pattern? Considering most of my friends are out of London, and those that are around are working (as I might be in a few weeks, fingers crossed), would I really be able to organise social gatherings with the regularity and intensity I did during the academic year? Hell, we’ll probably live in Stevenage based on how unfathomably expensive London house prices are, so I might have already irreversibly lost the ability to live near and interact with friends on such a regular basis.

That’s the scary part. My life has been split into stages of relative similarity up to this point: I was a primary school kid from 5-11, and relatively the same guy; I was a secondary school kid from 11-18, and was still kinda the same person. But now I’m a third of the way through university, and already the behavioural patterns I set up in that year are being pulled apart and replaced with new ones. University life, as its weird social function as a kind of pseudo-adulthood for kids who can’t quite let go of eating peanut butter sandwiches in their underwear for six straight hours, is a far more malleable lifestyle than anything I’ve encountered thus far. Which is probably why my sleep schedule is shot to Hell.

And with that nice bit of circular writing, drawing my lofty conclusion back to my introduction in a single sentence, I’m going to eat peanut butter sandwiches in my underwear, because I’m an adult.

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