Thornton Academy – AP Language 2018-2019

It’s 9:30 p.m., and I have finally begun to write this blog.  It’s due, as most things done during this hour are, tomorrow morning.  And now, I have found myself in a position most teenagers spend their whole life in: wanting sleep, unable to get it.

As is most often the case, the only thing standing between myself and a decent rest is work.  What’s most frustrating, is not even that this assignment exists in the first place, but that I had ample time to complete it.  Excluding this weekend, I had approximately six hours to begin this assignment before now.  Instead, I spent the afternoon squandering time as follows:

3:00–4:00: Post-school food binge.

4:00–6:30: Netflix.

6:30–7:10: Listening to music.

7:10–8:00: Pondering life on the kitchen floor.

8:00–9:00: Miscellaneous mischief.

9:00–now: Regretting the past 6 hours.

Or more simply stated:

3:00–now: Procrastinating.

Six hours of nothing.  There has to be some benefit to that.  Do I feel like I’ve accomplished something? Not really.  Am I glad that I’ve waited till now to do this? Definitely not.  Did I at least enjoy myself while doing nothing? Nope.  No benefits, no enjoyment, just a handful of regret and little time to ponder my poor life choices.  It certainly doesn’t make any sense to have waited till now to complete my work, but I can guess—probably accurately—that there are a whole bunch of kids staring at their screens the same as me right now.  Our sleep-addled brains regret foresaking homework until late last night, all the while attempting to justify doing the same now.

I don’t know if I have a solution to this problem.  It’s a habit, just as poisonously addictive as nail biting, smoking, or alcoholism.  Therefore, it’s equally as hard to stop.  The best words of advice I’ve ever gotten on the subject? “Future you will thank you later”.

 

Maine is one of the coldest states in America, being one of the northernmost states while also bordering Canada. Because of this, and the factor of climate change, winters in Maine can be brutal. From the torrential snowfall, to roads covered with layers of ice, winter in the pine tree state can be beautiful, but also dangerous.

Maine is one of the snowiest states in America. With an average of 77.28 inches of snow per year according to usa.com, Maine ranks second among states with the most average snowfall per year, only behind Vermont. This much snow can cause snow days and fun, but is also capable of causing many problems. An example of problems caused by snow include shoveling and plowing roads. Every time it snows, roads must be plowed and driveways shoveled to allow cars to drive safely. Also, too much snow can cause roofs to cave in if enough snow is piled up on top. Because of these reasons, snow is one of the factors that can make winter in Maine dangerous.

Another factor that makes winter in Maine dangerous is the ice. It does not only mean ice skating, as ice also makes roads very slippery, making it difficult for car tires to get a grip. If cars to not have the right tires for winter driving, it can be very dangerous. Even with tires designed to drive in icy conditions, drivers still need to proceed with caution. Ice can cause cars to lose control, which is why there are so many car accidents in the winter. Cars slip and skid causing crashes that can be deadly. Therefore, ice is one of the factors that makes winter in Maine so dangerous.

Snow and ice can be fun and beautiful, but can also create fatal catastrophes. Because of this, people must be careful when experiencing winter in Maine.

It is no secret that sleep is vital for us to function. Without it, one can become sluggish and fatigued through their daily tasks. Not to mention, sleep is enjoyable. We revel in the quiet peace and stillness of our body at rest.

But there are some who have found sleep to be their enemy, to be unagreeable, to be a nightmare. We all experience a night once in awhile where our mind races around the train tracks of our skulls, and sleep is unattainable. The minutes tick by, and desperation creeps in and grips the soul.

According to WebMD, “Insomnia is a sleep disorder characterized by trouble falling asleep and/or staying asleep.” 60 million Americans suffer from this every year, says NPR. Insomnia can be caused by a number of things, including stress and certain medications. Acute insomnia becomes chronic when sleeplessness happens several times a week for over three weeks.

When I was two, I gave up naps. I would watch the sunlight stream through the crack of the curtains, my toes in the air, my mom snoring softly beside me. At three, I gave up sleeping at night, calling into the night for someone to restart the scratched CD that lulled my sister to sleep because perhaps it could help me too. I was not aware then that I would involved in a tug-of-war for the next decade between myself and insomnia.

I began to live off of six, maybe five hours of sleep. My bedtime was around seven, but I would only fall asleep after midnight. My parents began to grow tired of my issue, sighing heavily when I approached their bedside in the late hours of night and asked for help. Burdensome as I was, I stopped requesting aid. I saw a sleep specialist who said I should be able to get to sleep fine —there was nothing wrong with me. But there was. And so it continued.

Insomnia plagued my nights until I was fourteen. As it has for so many others, it shaped the way I think about sleep. It shaped the way I thought about everything.

My advice would be that next time you feel hopeless in your quest to fall asleep, pick up something that makes you feel happy. Maybe it’s a book from your childhood, a drawing from a friend. Get out of bed and DO something until you feel sleepy.

Remember, as well, that there are other insomniacs out there struggling too. You are not alone. It will get better. The dark of the night can feel so isolating, but 60 million Americans each year have seen the dawn rise. This too, shall pass.

 

Rowing was exhilarating. All 8 of us moved in unison, hands gripping the metal pole of our paddles as we crashed through the white water rapids. Every stroke was in time, our voices sounding above the roar of the waves as we chanted rhythmically, “ūnus, duo, trēs, quattuor!”

Counting in Latin was Tyler’s idea; he sat at the nose of the raft, body taking the brunt of the waves, jet black hair matted in the wind. He was the only one proficient in Latin, but the volume of his counting carried over the noise of the river so that the rest of us were able to follow along.

All around us, walls of earth stretched upward towards the grey sky, carving out the path of the river that we rafted down. It smelled like a storm was brewing in the air.     We muscled our way through the last strip of rough water, pushing forward as we struggled to keep ourselves from being tossed over the edge of the raft and into the bubbling waters below.

As we exited the rapids, the water abruptly became still. The river gently carried us along and the danger of the white water gradually faded into a dull roar in the distance. The scenery was breathtaking. The reflection of the sky danced across the surface of the dark waters and lush green trees covered the rocky terrain.  Tyler stood up in the front of the boat, cupping his hands around his mouth and howling into the air. His voice echoed across the water.

“The rest of the way is like this.” Our advisor said from the back of the boat. “You can get out and swim if you’d like.”

About half of us took the offer and floated down the river on our backs. We could not have asked for a more perfect day to go. I hope to return and do it all again sometime.