(no subject)
( These are rather out of order now... this one is from my first or second month)
Journal VI
I am possibly too logical for the manifestations of culture shock I was warned about before leaving the States. I have not screamed, I have not thrown anything; I do not hate Mexico or my host family (though I’ll admit to an occasional distaste for the farmacia, as I have trouble reading the labels on products I need.) My irrational bouts of anger and sadness are short and generally put into proper perspective within ten minutes. However, for the past week and a half I’ve been exhausted far past the point of reason. I simply cannot get enough sleep. I spent an hour pondering the symptoms of Narcolepsy during my grammar class as I attempted to keep my focus on preterit verbs and my head off the desk. I find my self occasionally watching the clock during my last hour of service, a detestable action I cannot control as visions of my bed dance about my brain.
I’ve started to drink coffee with regularity, a habit I’m sure will become a drain on my wallet, as I only like the good stuff (current definition: espresso not bought in the school cafeteria.). In fact after I become addicted I’m sure the coffee will be eating my money for the rest of the time I have on earth. I’m beginning to contemplate the relative merits of a caffeine IV. Sure the pole would get in the way, but it would be an interesting conversational topic. The younger kids could climb on it at service, though I’d worry about it puncturing the volleyball during second period. Tired has never been a good look for me. It’s especially disconcerting for those who know me well. I’m the type of person who bounces. Lately I bounce only to keep my eyes open.
Things that would never bother me when I am completely awake drive me up a wall when I am tired. Exhaustion is my bitch button. In high school my best friend referred to me as sleepy Cinderella. In bed by midnight or she turns into a pumpkin. So far I’ve refrained from snapping, though I’ll admit that the idea troubles me. I‘ve been retreating into my books and my music to keep myself sane. I center myself using the words of those who’ve come before me. (I would simply take a nap if I had the time, but it’s seems to be impossible.) I focus on Joni Mitchell and bite back the curse that threatens to escape as a bus driver essentially shuts the door on my arm. I retreat to the house to read before service in an attempt to erase a moment of extreme frustration.
I’m hoping the exhaustion will pass soon (or perhaps I will simply out run in with the amount of caffeine I’m consuming.) but if it doesn’t I’ve at least learned to cope. When all else fails I can always call my dad (though I try to avoid worrying him), or write an email to my friends. Contact calms my nerves. It steadies the caffeine induced twitch.
As I write this journal the hour grows late. It drifts slowly past my bedtime and my eyes begin to blur. Tomorrow will be a two shot day, probably more. I have a test on Friday. My head sinks lower, lower, lower and now I am gone.
Journal VI
I am possibly too logical for the manifestations of culture shock I was warned about before leaving the States. I have not screamed, I have not thrown anything; I do not hate Mexico or my host family (though I’ll admit to an occasional distaste for the farmacia, as I have trouble reading the labels on products I need.) My irrational bouts of anger and sadness are short and generally put into proper perspective within ten minutes. However, for the past week and a half I’ve been exhausted far past the point of reason. I simply cannot get enough sleep. I spent an hour pondering the symptoms of Narcolepsy during my grammar class as I attempted to keep my focus on preterit verbs and my head off the desk. I find my self occasionally watching the clock during my last hour of service, a detestable action I cannot control as visions of my bed dance about my brain.
I’ve started to drink coffee with regularity, a habit I’m sure will become a drain on my wallet, as I only like the good stuff (current definition: espresso not bought in the school cafeteria.). In fact after I become addicted I’m sure the coffee will be eating my money for the rest of the time I have on earth. I’m beginning to contemplate the relative merits of a caffeine IV. Sure the pole would get in the way, but it would be an interesting conversational topic. The younger kids could climb on it at service, though I’d worry about it puncturing the volleyball during second period. Tired has never been a good look for me. It’s especially disconcerting for those who know me well. I’m the type of person who bounces. Lately I bounce only to keep my eyes open.
Things that would never bother me when I am completely awake drive me up a wall when I am tired. Exhaustion is my bitch button. In high school my best friend referred to me as sleepy Cinderella. In bed by midnight or she turns into a pumpkin. So far I’ve refrained from snapping, though I’ll admit that the idea troubles me. I‘ve been retreating into my books and my music to keep myself sane. I center myself using the words of those who’ve come before me. (I would simply take a nap if I had the time, but it’s seems to be impossible.) I focus on Joni Mitchell and bite back the curse that threatens to escape as a bus driver essentially shuts the door on my arm. I retreat to the house to read before service in an attempt to erase a moment of extreme frustration.
I’m hoping the exhaustion will pass soon (or perhaps I will simply out run in with the amount of caffeine I’m consuming.) but if it doesn’t I’ve at least learned to cope. When all else fails I can always call my dad (though I try to avoid worrying him), or write an email to my friends. Contact calms my nerves. It steadies the caffeine induced twitch.
As I write this journal the hour grows late. It drifts slowly past my bedtime and my eyes begin to blur. Tomorrow will be a two shot day, probably more. I have a test on Friday. My head sinks lower, lower, lower and now I am gone.