THE CULTURE OF EXHAUSTION
I wrestle over to my right side, ignoring the squeaks beneath every move. I’ve just suffered the sudden attack of sunlight on my eyes that awakens me each morning. I yank the comforter over my head, but my thoughts have already begun to stir. I wonder what time it is, hoping it’s at least past ten but remind myself that a productive day ahead would mean getting up before nine. I lay still, straining to hear any movement from my roommate that would convince me it’s time for me to wake up too. I hear the gentle tap of my hamster drinking from the metal spout of her water bottle, which oftentimes is the final bit of persuasion I need to spring up in bed in hopes of seeing her in action.
After I check my phone, flattered by the long list of notifications (even if they’re emails), I count the hours I’ve just slept. I’ve learned that no matter how long or short a night’s rest, I always feel the same the next day. For instance, it’s two in the morning as I write this, and I know my alarm will go off in six hours. I curiously feel comfortable with this, knowing I’ll be able to get through the day while telling my friends how exhausted I am, because it feels like something everyone else does.
I suppose the obsession with seeming tired began in high school. I had never placed much importance on sleep as a child (I always functioned fine without a full night’s rest, something my two younger sisters seldom allowed) but as a greedy fifteen-year-old taking college level AP classes, I found myself yearning to feel the full effects of such an advanced course load. The all-girls high school I attended seemed to allow me and my peers to indulge in the overworked-stressed-out-but-still-not-caring persona that we self-prescribed. Unbrushed hair swept up in messy buns framed our naked faces, and I constantly found myself feeling a little jealous of any girl who looked like she put less effort into her appearance than I did mine. It was a way of creating the illusion that we devoted all of our time to schoolwork, which I admit was also a façade.
I must admit that I never worked hard at school, but still got the same grades as those who did. I felt somewhat ashamed of this, receiving grades that to an extent I did not deserve. I would come to school the morning of an AP Art History test and join my friends in groveling about how they studied all night long but would still probably fail. Meanwhile, I spent the night before joking around with my sisters, went to sleep at 11 pm, and only looked over my notes once the morning of the test. I felt more comfortable lying about my study habits (or lack thereof) than receiving the usual “well fuck you” from a best friend when I did well on a test I didn’t study for. When asked how I survived without ever studying, I would say that I just paid attention in class. It was true; I was able to learn everything as it was being taught because I wasn’t actually exhausted from studying the night before. I stayed out of the vicious cycle of staying up late to study then dozing off in class without ever even trying.
When I got to college, I was still functioning on the high school mindset of having lots to do, getting it done and then enjoying my free time. I got lucky with a very easy schedule my freshman year. With class only three days a week and nothing that started before three in the afternoon, I found myself painfully bored at times. I gave in to the excessive sleep pattern my schedule permitted, and thoroughly enjoyed staying up as late as I wanted and sleeping in as late as I wanted. Still, I was surrounded by friends with morning classes five days a week, who seemed to have much more homework than I, and owed their lives to the Tapingo feature of Starbucks on campus. Although I had snuck into a heavy sleep routine, I rarely mentioned my easy schedule, and even acted way more stressed than I was because I wanted to feel the burn of college. I felt something light up inside me every time someone told me that I looked tired, and started drinking coffee for the flavor instead of the caffeine (on which I am now dependent). I would think, “Well if they’re so tired, I should be tired too, right?” I became highly invested in the culture of exhaustion at college before it even became my reality.
Napping had always been popular among my group of friends in high school, but I only gave in to the strange contradictory activity in college. The confined space of a dorm room directed all guests to sit on my bed, and I suppose one friend thought mine was especially comfortable. He would stretch out, releasing a dramatic sigh of exhaustion, and then would convince others that they just had to feel how comfortable my bed was. Not after long I found myself coming home from class to certain friends napping in my bed (after much begging on their part). Whether it was another charade of the phenomenon of always being tired, or they wanted to experience my heavenly feather-bed from Bed Bath & Beyond, sleeping seemed an activity in itself.
“What should we do?” A friend would propose on a day off.
“Let’s nap!”
I first found it frustrating that in the midst of New York City, my friends chose to stay inside all day and sleep, but not after long I discovered that I truly had appropriated this culture of exhaustion. I loved having to respond to texts from hours ago with, “Sorry, I was sleeping.”
I was surrounded by people whose Holy Trinity was Netflix, Sleep, and Coffee, and like any other culture you live in, you begin to adopt its ways. I slept so much my mom thought I was depressed. It even got to a point where I had to set an alarm for 2 o’clock in the afternoon so I wouldn’t miss my 3:30 class. And it all started with wanting to say I was tired too.
After a while, one does get “tired” of being tired. And keeping in mind I still have never had a Redbull, Monster, 5-Hour Energy, or more than two cups of coffee in a day, I decided to call bullshit on myself. I wanted to truly be living the busy and exhausting life I was pretending to feel the effects of, so I resolved to take on more responsibilities and get out more often.
Now, my schedule is up to par with what I had been pretending it was. I’m a full time student with a job and an internship, which I think warrants a little exhaustion. In High School, I managed thirty-five hours of school each week, on top of extracurricular activities and all that comes with applying to colleges. But I handled it all with ease, because it was the type of work I had been used to my whole life. Now I barely spend ten hours in classes each week; I spend double that working my part-time job, while I intern on my own time. I am finally passionate about everything I involve myself in, which makes it easy to exhaust the thought I put into each endeavor, but it’s never hard work. My tiredness remains in my life as a habit, not as a goal, although I don’t actually do anything to feel less overworked.
I still stand by the notion that everyone in college is tired because for the most part, we choose to be. Time management has become a joke. The amount of times I hear (or say), “I should really be doing my homework,” while proceeding to watch TV or stay out shopping is astonishing. Days have become time for relaxation, while nights are reserved for getting work done. We all could finish assignments diligently and study thoroughly for exams, but it is much easier said than done. So semi-all-nighters have become a norm, where the next day is filled with comments like,
“I’m so dead today.”
“I can’t wait for today to be over.”
“I don’t know how I’m functioning right now.”
In college, being tired is being free. Everyone wants to be a part of something new and different, a challenge they worked up to their whole lives. If someone’s tired, they’ve been doing things. The structured rigor of High School could have never allowed for students to give in to being tired. I’m tired because I choose to be, not because it is imposed on me. Living on your own in college means making your own hours, and having too much on your plate is admirable. A yawn in class is not seen as rude but is met with sympathy or another yawn. We’ve all felt exhaustion at different times in our lives. I just didn’t think I would actually enjoy it now.