Trying to Regularize My Sleep Patterns:

an Epic Fail.

After a 5 hour nap yesterday that spanned most of the afternoon and part of the evening, I woke up for a few hours and slept a few hours, springing permanently awake, and spry, out of my bed and into the velvet dark outside my window. Re-read some Reading Lolita, shamefully late in the developing-programming-around-it game.

Washed the dishes, filed my taxes.

Dreamt of running.

It has been a month since my inner world disintegrated, taking chunks of my outer world with it.

It has been a year since I was fretting about going back to school.

It has been two years since Whit came to visit me in Amsterdam, and we discovered a dive-y kitschy bar called Pirates, a place where a small group of us would later spent many long hours dancing to Rihanna and drinking 1 euro beer. On special occasions, the bartenders would swashbuckle around with be-flamed rapiers and shout THE ROOF, THE ROOF, THE ROOF IS ON FIRE along with the song.

I don't remember three years ago.

I've been so nostalgic, as I come out of my fog - remembering gray Amsterdam February, the damp always hovering in the air, a softer and more muted version of winter. The day that I discovered Nieuw Hoogstraat, a cramped lane that breeds vintage stores and book emporia. The night that really sealed all of our friendships, the 14th, wherein we saw Tim dance fiercely, fiercely, in the front row of the Polysics show, and I wore my pink boots out into the world for the first time.

Being awake in the middle of the night, especially a winter night, is for Making Decisions and Getting Things Done. I almost  baked a cake, but have too many doubts about Whitney and I being able to consume a whole cake by ourselves. I am still waffling all over the place, do-I-want-to-be-in-school do-I-want-to-be-in-America do-I-want-a-big-girl-job, etc. I really would love to go back to Amsterdam in the fall, if I could. I think I only can if I am also in school. And here I am, suddenly awakened to the fact that I could go to Interactive Media Arts school and take the project that Emily and I are starting even further. It's not realized entirely yet, mostly because neither of us knows how to build complex, multiply interlinked web pages. But it does have a name. The Wasp and the Orchid. We have been channeling D&G (Deleuze and Guattari, that is) all this time and not even thinking about it. Amazing. We, what this site becomes, what comes from the people who visit it, are a living, breathing rhizome.

And then, there is the prospect of an MFA always lingering in the background, my intense fear of quashing or selling myself out, when I have produced the opposite of public work for the past six years.  Do I want to be a translator? Do I want to do poetry or nonfiction?

Where is my attention span?