Sleep, Y U NO stop disappearing at night?!

If only a person resembling a panda could look this cute.

If there’s one thing I’m certain of, it’s that I’m sure to look like a panda tomorrow, all thanks to the ever-deepening pits under my eyes.  Sleep deprivation does not suit me very well. Just like most of my nights here in Bombay, I can’t sleep. I don’t know what it is about being here that has messed with my sleep cycle this badly, but I JUST CANNOT SLEEP!


With howling, nocturnal dogs and a beetle that just won’t leave me alone for company (I’m pretty sure I woke people up with my shrieks when it flew right at my face), I’m lying in bed, writing/typing this and trying to figure out what exactly it is that is keeping me up.

Whether it's my body being unable to adjust to the new surroundings, or my stomach’s constant rumbling due to lack of food (thanks for that, Ankita Singh), or the cute, but annoyingly noisy, dogs creating a ruckus outside every damn night, or something entirely in my mind, I can’t say.

I don’t like being around people. The only people I’d like to be with are those that aren’t around, those I cannot be with. I’d rather people just let me be and not try to make me talk.

Stop asking me questions. Stop making me pretend to like you. Stop calling. Stop asking me what I’m thinking. Because more often than not, I have no idea.

Just let me be.

I share an apartment with two other girls—one that refuses to come back to the city and another that I hardly ever get to see. This wasn’t exactly how I had envisioned having my own place with friends would feel like. A great part of it involved actually getting to see those friends. Could it be lack of contact with people I actually care about (and those I work with do NOT count here) that’s keeping me up? Am I actually, subconsciously of course, craving for some company? I find that hard to believe.

I’ve always wanted this life—a job, a house, money, independence and lots and lots of shoes. What I didn’t factor in is the trivial amount of loneliness that would accompany having all of it.

I’m gonna get through this, whatever “this” actually is.

Reading though what I’ve written so far, it doesn’t make much sense to me either. Like I said. Or maybe I didn’t. It’s all a jumbled mess, and the only conclusion I can draw from all the gibberish spewing from my mind is that it quite definitely is fucked (for lack of a more appropriate word).