There’s a quote from How I Met Your Mother in which Future Ted tells his children: “Nothing good happens after 2am.” I discovered the veracity of this aphorism during this night, or predawn hours.
I had planned on going to sleep early, so I could wake up early and bang out my final paper and presentation for my 400-level foreign language seminar I was taking. However, try as I might, I just could not go to sleep that evening, which was unusual for me, as I usually am knocked out before my head hits the pillow (wow, lots of idioms today). I kept turning and adjusting the layers of blankets wrapped around me, hoping that I might be able to stave off the frigid air that was seeping in through the window. I even banged open the window and slammed the screen door at around midnight, hoping to seal the window completely shut and ended up waking my roommate, but alas, our college dorm did not build the windows with freezing students in mind.
Eventually I gave up and went on my phone since I couldn’t fall asleep anyway. It was around 3:30am at this time, and I was shocked I had been up for more than 3 hours. It was probably my first battle with insomnia, and I was losing. So I scroll around on Instagram, Pinterest, Snapchat, TikTok, all the social media apps but soon lose interest even in these platforms that are designed to keep you on there for hours on end.
Bored and truly not knowing what to do next, I decide to read through all my texts with S, which inevitably leads me to questioning everything I’d ever texted. Why do I sound so desperate? I thought. Am I really this boring? This conversation sounds so stilted. Oh God, I’m really forcing this one here.
By the time I finished reading through all these texts, I’ve completely convinced myself that my fling/whatever is going on between S and me is a complete failure, utter shit show, complete joke, etc etc, and I send a panicked text to my friend conveying my new epiphany (see image below).
I go to sleep at around 4:30am or 5:00am, and after a busy, work-filled day, I sit down, think reasonably about this faux dilemma and decide that I am freaking out for no reason and am embarking on another self-sabotage journey, as my friends like to often point out.
Thankfully, I decided to end nothing (also, what would there be to end?) and continue on this S train for now. I’ve learned now to maybe not re-read old text conversations, especially at 3am. Still, I am convinced that I am very bad at texting though. I’m definitely terrible at responding to texts in a timely manner but also am bad with carrying any sort of conversation or communicating wit/emotion/humor/sarcasm through text. Which, in the post-digital age, is so beneficial for me!