Falling asleep for the past few nights has been a lot harder than it should be. I lie awake each night for at least two hours before I slowly start to drift asleep. It is because of my leg. My hamstring hurts, my calf is tight, and nothing feels right. I try lying on my back, it doesn't work. I try lying on my sides, it doesn't work. I try lying on my stomach with my arms wedged underneath my pillow, it doesn't work. Nothing works. Once I get to sleep, it is only for a few hours, and then my alarm goes off. I wake up feeling unrested and groggy, and I go through the day feeling no different. It feels like someone is dragging a knife down my leg, and then once they get to the bottom, they start all over. It feels like this until I go to sleep, and the cycle starts all over again.
This is really good, Lauren (well, not what you're describing, but the way you described it)! You describe well the pain you're feeling, but talking about having trouble falling asleep and then having to go through the day feeling exhausted is something to which we can all relate. I shudder at "it feels as if someone is driving a knife down my leg;" that's great imagery! The repetition of "it doesn't work" is effective, too. I think it might be nice if you elaborated a little bit more on trying to fall asleep; you have the physical description, but maybe you could talk a bit about what you think about as you try to fall asleep, as well. I also like your choice to end it talking about the cycle starting again. Good job (and hope your leg feels better)!
I tentatively took a small step forward, expecting the worst. Nothing. Good. I sensed that I was very close, and lowered myself slowly to the ground, getting down on my hands and knees. Nothing. I crept slowly closer to the rich, loud chirping that was emanating from a point about a foot in front of me. Estimating that the culprit was in a large tussock of grass at about that distance, I lifted my hands to move forward again. The chirping stopped. I froze, my hand stretching in front of me like a statue, one of my knees at the cusp of movement, the other raised halfway up. Ten seconds went by, then twenty. I silently willed the insect to sing. Forty seconds. I couldn’t hold the position much longer; my body was aching, crying out to fall to earth. Suddenly the chirping began again with renewed vigor. I dropped back down to all fours, needing to breathe heavily, but trying to conceal it so as not to scare the singer any further. After catching my breath quickly, I started forward again. The chirping stopped again when I reached the tussock of grass, but parting the grass revealed nothing. I was perplexed. Surely this was his hideout? After scouting the area, I finally saw a tiny hole, almost indistinguishable in the soil. Seeing what was going on, I pulled out a container and plopped it over the hole. Upon my return in half an hour, the container held a beautiful male spring field cricket, one of the better tricksters in the cricket world.
Saturday night, I went to a party celebrating my grandparents' 60th anniversary. I saw some of my cousins (all in their twenties), and each asked me if I was getting a lot of work, my junior year, and which colleges I was planning on visiting. Having spent most of the day doing my homework, and not having by any means finished it, I said yes, feeling increasingly stressed about the homework I had left to do. As for the second question, my grandmother had spent a portion of the afternoon telling me why I'd love Harvard (I'm not at all sure that I would, and didn't think her reasons were particularly valid, but managed to refrain from retorting), and so my answer was an increasingly desperate "I'm not sure, probably liberal arts colleges in the Northeast." I sat down to eat next to my aunt, who asked me how school was going. I told her about how I was editor of the paper and had a bit part in the play and how I was doing my term paper this semester--in short, how very busy I was. She asked me about my social life, and I said that I was keeping it low-key and wasn't letting it add to my stress. She reminded me of how I was feeling the last time I saw her, soon before the start of school, psyched but nervous. She reminded me how hopeless I had been feeling socially when I had seen her at the beginning of the summer. She reminded me that when I started at Waynflete, I would never have dreamed of doing a play. She thought I'd make an excellent editor. In about two sentences she made me think about what an accomplishment it was to be doing any of these things. It wasn't as if I hadn't heard these encouragements before, but lying in bed a few hours later, I was amazed that I hadn't seen my life in this positive a light until now.
I shifted from foot to foot as mud slid down my face, arms and legs. I could feel my ponytail dripping and my cleats were nothing but puddles of dirty water. It was pouring rain and the soccer field was a mud pit. Goalie training had been a wet, dirty mess and I was completely drenched. Looking down at myself I couldn't even differentiate my muddy clothes from my muddy skin. My black tank top and blue shorts clung to my skin, desperately trying to hold in any heat there was left in my body. It was no use and my teeth began chattering. Practice had ended 15 minutes ago and yet there I was, protecting the goal during our scrimmage. The sun was no longer in sight, perhaps because of the fog or perhaps because it was late enough in October that it had already set. I clenched and unclenched my toes feeling the mud and water squish around my soaked socks. I was in heaven.
This is really nice, Julianna. The description paints a wonderful picture of the situation you were in, and at the end that one simple sentence, “I was in heaven”, creates a complete duality. It makes a reader do a double-take as they realize that the entire cold, wet, muddy environment was not something bad at all, but rather something enjoyable for you. Even though I think that this works quite well on its own, I think it might be nice to see what people around you were engaged in, or perhaps a little more description of the environment.
I think it might be time for my grandmother to go. She is 103 and yesterday she started to go downhill. We have all been amazed when each time she gets sick she bounces back and is better than ever. I think it was last year she had a series of strokes that made us all think that she was not going to make it, and then miraculously she pulled out of it and seemed barely affected. She still drinks and goes swimming in the ocean, and Michelle and Barack Obama send her letters on her birthday because she is so old and still going. There is something about this time. I feel like I expect her to bounce back but something is telling me she might not. She is miraculous and we still may have a few more years with her, but I think she may be ready.
The feeling I'm starting to associate with food is uncomfortable. It feels as though something's not quite right, the feeling just before nausea where you know you'll be sick, and you should just take a moment and stop, now, and see if it'll pass. And I know something's not quite right; I'm missing an organ. It shouldn't be all that surprising. But I feel like that when I move too much, when I eat too much (which has now become too easy, because apparently I don't need as much food anymore), when I don't eat enough — the list goes on. The worst part of it is, I used to be a foodie. I loved eating, because I enjoyed flavor and texture and well-crafted food. And now, it's hard, uncomfortable, and more than that, it's demoralizing. I just want to be able to go through the day without feeling sick.
It's nearing the end of summer and an overwhelming realization of all the things I haven't done loom over me. My legs jitter underneath the covers of my bed and a feeling bubbles up in my chest screaming, "Do something!" So, I do. I jump out of bed and pull on my sports pants, a good light t-shirt, a small hijab, and my sneakers. I do all of this hastily, trying to get out the door as soon as possible. Soon, my feet pound the gray pavement as I run a clear path around the Freeport Village. I hate tourists, but, it's late enough that there is no one standing in my way. Which is good. There's not too many people to watch my struggle. I haven't run in months. My legs aren't used to the constant movement and pressure and I tire quickly, my breath coming in quicker and quicker gasps. I didn't take any puffs from my inhaler )I have exercise induced asthma) but it doesn't usually attack until I've been running for a while. And, I'm sure not even ten minutes has passed. My legs ache, growing heavier until they feel like dead weights attached to my hips. They practically scream at me to stop, but I keep on. There's a small stretch of sidewalk and I sprint until the stop sign, pushing it as hard as I can, my head over my legs as I run faster. Then, I come to a dead stop. And, immediately a nauseous feeling overtakes me as I walk the rest of the way home, yearning to be lying in bed again. I've had my outing for the day and the restless feeling has subsided. I can relax again.
Falling asleep for the past few nights has been a lot harder than it should be. I lie awake each night for at least two hours before I slowly start to drift asleep. It is because of my leg. My hamstring hurts, my calf is tight, and nothing feels right. I try lying on my back, it doesn't work. I try lying on my sides, it doesn't work. I try lying on my stomach with my arms wedged underneath my pillow, it doesn't work. Nothing works. Once I get to sleep, it is only for a few hours, and then my alarm goes off. I wake up feeling unrested and groggy, and I go through the day feeling no different. It feels like someone is dragging a knife down my leg, and then once they get to the bottom, they start all over. It feels like this until I go to sleep, and the cycle starts all over again.
ReplyDeleteThis is really good, Lauren (well, not what you're describing, but the way you described it)! You describe well the pain you're feeling, but talking about having trouble falling asleep and then having to go through the day feeling exhausted is something to which we can all relate. I shudder at "it feels as if someone is driving a knife down my leg;" that's great imagery! The repetition of "it doesn't work" is effective, too. I think it might be nice if you elaborated a little bit more on trying to fall asleep; you have the physical description, but maybe you could talk a bit about what you think about as you try to fall asleep, as well. I also like your choice to end it talking about the cycle starting again. Good job (and hope your leg feels better)!
DeleteI tentatively took a small step forward, expecting the worst. Nothing. Good. I sensed that I was very close, and lowered myself slowly to the ground, getting down on my hands and knees. Nothing. I crept slowly closer to the rich, loud chirping that was emanating from a point about a foot in front of me. Estimating that the culprit was in a large tussock of grass at about that distance, I lifted my hands to move forward again. The chirping stopped. I froze, my hand stretching in front of me like a statue, one of my knees at the cusp of movement, the other raised halfway up. Ten seconds went by, then twenty. I silently willed the insect to sing. Forty seconds. I couldn’t hold the position much longer; my body was aching, crying out to fall to earth. Suddenly the chirping began again with renewed vigor. I dropped back down to all fours, needing to breathe heavily, but trying to conceal it so as not to scare the singer any further. After catching my breath quickly, I started forward again. The chirping stopped again when I reached the tussock of grass, but parting the grass revealed nothing. I was perplexed. Surely this was his hideout? After scouting the area, I finally saw a tiny hole, almost indistinguishable in the soil. Seeing what was going on, I pulled out a container and plopped it over the hole. Upon my return in half an hour, the container held a beautiful male spring field cricket, one of the better tricksters in the cricket world.
ReplyDeleteSaturday night, I went to a party celebrating my grandparents' 60th anniversary. I saw some of my cousins (all in their twenties), and each asked me if I was getting a lot of work, my junior year, and which colleges I was planning on visiting. Having spent most of the day doing my homework, and not having by any means finished it, I said yes, feeling increasingly stressed about the homework I had left to do. As for the second question, my grandmother had spent a portion of the afternoon telling me why I'd love Harvard (I'm not at all sure that I would, and didn't think her reasons were particularly valid, but managed to refrain from retorting), and so my answer was an increasingly desperate "I'm not sure, probably liberal arts colleges in the Northeast."
ReplyDeleteI sat down to eat next to my aunt, who asked me how school was going. I told her about how I was editor of the paper and had a bit part in the play and how I was doing my term paper this semester--in short, how very busy I was. She asked me about my social life, and I said that I was keeping it low-key and wasn't letting it add to my stress.
She reminded me of how I was feeling the last time I saw her, soon before the start of school, psyched but nervous. She reminded me how hopeless I had been feeling socially when I had seen her at the beginning of the summer. She reminded me that when I started at Waynflete, I would never have dreamed of doing a play. She thought I'd make an excellent editor. In about two sentences she made me think about what an accomplishment it was to be doing any of these things.
It wasn't as if I hadn't heard these encouragements before, but lying in bed a few hours later, I was amazed that I hadn't seen my life in this positive a light until now.
I shifted from foot to foot as mud slid down my face, arms and legs. I could feel my ponytail dripping and my cleats were nothing but puddles of dirty water. It was pouring rain and the soccer field was a mud pit. Goalie training had been a wet, dirty mess and I was completely drenched. Looking down at myself I couldn't even differentiate my muddy clothes from my muddy skin. My black tank top and blue shorts clung to my skin, desperately trying to hold in any heat there was left in my body. It was no use and my teeth began chattering. Practice had ended 15 minutes ago and yet there I was, protecting the goal during our scrimmage. The sun was no longer in sight, perhaps because of the fog or perhaps because it was late enough in October that it had already set. I clenched and unclenched my toes feeling the mud and water squish around my soaked socks. I was in heaven.
ReplyDeleteThis is really nice, Julianna. The description paints a wonderful picture of the situation you were in, and at the end that one simple sentence, “I was in heaven”, creates a complete duality. It makes a reader do a double-take as they realize that the entire cold, wet, muddy environment was not something bad at all, but rather something enjoyable for you. Even though I think that this works quite well on its own, I think it might be nice to see what people around you were engaged in, or perhaps a little more description of the environment.
DeleteI think it might be time for my grandmother to go. She is 103 and yesterday she started to go downhill. We have all been amazed when each time she gets sick she bounces back and is better than ever. I think it was last year she had a series of strokes that made us all think that she was not going to make it, and then miraculously she pulled out of it and seemed barely affected. She still drinks and goes swimming in the ocean, and Michelle and Barack Obama send her letters on her birthday because she is so old and still going. There is something about this time. I feel like I expect her to bounce back but something is telling me she might not. She is miraculous and we still may have a few more years with her, but I think she may be ready.
ReplyDeleteThe feeling I'm starting to associate with food is uncomfortable. It feels as though something's not quite right, the feeling just before nausea where you know you'll be sick, and you should just take a moment and stop, now, and see if it'll pass. And I know something's not quite right; I'm missing an organ. It shouldn't be all that surprising. But I feel like that when I move too much, when I eat too much (which has now become too easy, because apparently I don't need as much food anymore), when I don't eat enough — the list goes on. The worst part of it is, I used to be a foodie. I loved eating, because I enjoyed flavor and texture and well-crafted food. And now, it's hard, uncomfortable, and more than that, it's demoralizing. I just want to be able to go through the day without feeling sick.
ReplyDeleteIt's nearing the end of summer and an overwhelming realization of all the things I haven't done loom over me. My legs jitter underneath the covers of my bed and a feeling bubbles up in my chest screaming, "Do something!" So, I do. I jump out of bed and pull on my sports pants, a good light t-shirt, a small hijab, and my sneakers. I do all of this hastily, trying to get out the door as soon as possible.
ReplyDeleteSoon, my feet pound the gray pavement as I run a clear path around the Freeport Village. I hate tourists, but, it's late enough that there is no one standing in my way. Which is good. There's not too many people to watch my struggle.
I haven't run in months. My legs aren't used to the constant movement and pressure and I tire quickly, my breath coming in quicker and quicker gasps. I didn't take any puffs from my inhaler )I have exercise induced asthma) but it doesn't usually attack until I've been running for a while. And, I'm sure not even ten minutes has passed.
My legs ache, growing heavier until they feel like dead weights attached to my hips. They practically scream at me to stop, but I keep on. There's a small stretch of sidewalk and I sprint until the stop sign, pushing it as hard as I can, my head over my legs as I run faster. Then, I come to a dead stop. And, immediately a nauseous feeling overtakes me as I walk the rest of the way home, yearning to be lying in bed again. I've had my outing for the day and the restless feeling has subsided. I can relax again.