Okay so it's 4:22 in the morning which means that I'm just getting started here people IT IS FARLEY TIME now and oh God apparently I'm supposed to tell you all about sleep, but honestly that is not really something I do if I can help it. ERGO we are going to instead have a rather lovely discussion regarding NOT SLEEPING. That is so much more interesting and it also gives me an excuse to punch up my cracked-out prose with EGREGIOUS USE OF CAPS LOCK. Booyah.
We are now one Red Bull in, for those of you who are keeping track.
Anyway, I pulled my first all-nighter when I was 11, setting myself up for a loooooong tradition of zombified mornings, caffeine dependence and being That Weird Girl Who Always Looks Vaguely Cracked Out. Let me tell you something: in high school exhaustedly faceplanting into your ham sandwich does not win you a seat at the cool lunch table. I usually sat with a sub-group of Wannabes and Sexually Active Band Geeks, who tolerated me, but had a disturbing habit of sleeping. This meant long lonely stretches of time after 2 a.m. with not a single person on AIM and no one to commiserate with my bloodshot-eyed self in homeroom the next day. Sadness.
After surviving four years of sleep deprivation and subsequent caffeination on my own, I came here and was thrilled to the point of greater hyperactivity than usual to discover that TONS O' PEOPLE were quite happy to crack themselves out until 5 a.m. (The deepest friendships are those forged in a state of mutual delirium in the 1902 room.)
Two down, two to go. Dear Red Bull Manufacturers: why no six pack?
Now, even though avoiding deliberate unconsciousness is really perversely fun at the time of the actual not-sleepage, the consequences the next day can be less than Happy Fun Times. The pathetic shell of a person sitting in the back of your 9L concentrating solely on keeping his eyes open might be missing out on some aspect of his Dartmouth Experience
Ideally, those of us who shun unconsciousness during traditional hours would be able to crash in peace after the sun came up (while excess sleep is obviously for the weak, I've discovered that you apparently need some minimum quantity of REM to survive LAME) but due to the quasi-fascist demands of society that we also be awake at the ungodly hour of 9 a.m., this is sadly impossible. Given this situation, why would anyone voluntarily stay up all night, knowing he or she has to face the brutal world of consciousness the next morning?
I have a cracked-out answer for you: not sleeping is like an extreme sport. Stick with me here, because now I'm at three Red Bulls and I am telling you right now earnestly that I can ACTUALLY FEEL MY SKIN.
Staying up all night has most of the aspects that in other inane pursuits can land you a spot in the X-Games. It puts ridiculous stress on your body, requires a strict training regimen (no amateurs in 1902 please) and provides the all-important adrenalin rush. What it lacks are recognition and lucrative endorsement deals, but I'm here to change that. My face would look great on the tank-sized cups of coffee in Collis. If you're in a position to make this happen, blitz me at "CaffeineGirl" we'll talk.
