Can't. Sleep.

It's another one of those sleepless nights, but unlike just like the rest, where my brain cannot shut itself up. I mean really now. It's three-effing-oh-eight in the morning. It has to take a break at some point, right?

I've come to some conclusions whilst threatening my brain with the absence of naps.

1. This is an ongoing thing. I'm not a normal sleeper. As Mark Twain said, "I realize that form the cradle up I have been like the rest of the race - never quite sane in the night." Sir, I feel your pain.
2. Blogging is freakishly helpful.
3. There are a couple of things that are preventing me from sleeping tonight:

• My brain.
• The fact that both my new pillow and my new mattress topper thingamajig smell funny (yay college).
• My brain.
• I get hungry when I can't fall asleep?
• My brain.
• Too many fleece blankets (three).
• My brain.
• And my brain. That about sums it up.

4. My future roommate (she's from Texas, not that it has anything to do with this) will not appreciate the click-clack tapping and iridescent glow of my laptop at 3am.

But there's something about the night that intrigues me, and not in the I'm a bat/vampire/creeper sort of way. There are so many possibilities in the night, and it depends on the kind of night-person you are.

The first type of night-person is a normal person (I strive for creativity). Nighttime is when you crawl into your bed, comfortably nestled into a cocoon of pillows and blankets, ready for your imagination to go wild as you slip into a restful sleep, filled with dreams and the promise of tomorrow. Nighttime is simply the time to recharge, a time of passing-through to the next day. This is the ideal kind of night-person.

The next type of night-person is somewhat afraid of the night. Nighttime does not always hold the promise of the morning (let me take this time to acknowledge the beauty of Craig Hella Johnson's voice in the piece, his impeccable sense of personal style choices within the piece, and the truth behind Emily Dickinson's poem, after which this piece was crafted), and you feel as though you could be trapped within the night, sucked away down a dark hole, never to be seen again. Tossing and turning is normal, with many introspective moments throughout the long hours between dusk and dawn. For this type of night-person, the hours of darkness are not always frightening; nighttime can cause anxiety or over thinking, both of which can arouse without fear of the night.

The third type of night-person thrives unexpectedly in the hours while the rest of the world is at rest. Night owls, these people take the dark silence as an invitation to dwell in the peace that arises from the rest of the world being seemingly dead. Laundry is folded, thank you notes are written, rooms are cleaned, books are writted - you name it and it's probaby being done by some insomniac somewhere.

I'm surviving on the assumption that we are made up of bits and pieces of each type of night-person. I have a little bit more of the unexpected productivity during/fear of the night. This invariably leads to naps on naps on naps on naps; my hours spent napping tend to surpass that of the average three-year-old. This insomnia thing - whatever the heck it is - is rather cyclical. No sleep, stay up, do something, fall asleep, wake up earlier than I want to, nap longer than I want to, no sleep, etc. It's quite tedious, really. But right about now - 3:36am, ladies and gentlemen - my brain has finally decided to calm the eff down. That means it's time to shut down my lovely instrument of insomnia-related banter/relief. Amen.

Keep on keeping on, fellow insomniacs.

There's gotta be something more?

I'm writing this with my 32-minute break between walking the dog and picking up the brother.

That seems to be how my summer is going. Mom said, "You should get a job this summer," and I answered with a half-assed, "Uh huh," while mostly ignoring her and (kind of) glancing up from my book. I'm not against working; I actually love having something to do (e.g. five years of working at my dance studio). But the only place that was hiring that I wanted to work at was inevitably not hiring "seasonal employees." Seeing as how that thing called college would inhibit my ability to work in the store come September, it was a no-go.

So I'm the live-in nanny of my household. Two parents, both working all day, three younger siblings, and a lot of places to drive. I'm talking drop kid one off, wait an hour, drop kid two off, wait an hour, pick up kid three from wherever she ends up, wait two hours, pick up kid two, wait an hour and a half, pick up kid one.

The radio and I have become best friends.

I'm not complaining. It may appear that I am, in fact, complaining, but it's better than working all day every day. I recognize that. I just feel like I haven't done anything with my summer. Most of that can be attributed to the fact that I prefer books over people. Hardcore prefer books over people. I spend my non-running-around-driving-kids-places hours minutes reading book after book after book after watching Wizards of Waverly Place after book.

But hey, I leave my room for food, walking the dog, and the occasional sleepover with the bestie.

It's July 25th. In one month's time, my best friend will have already started school halfway across the country. She will be settled in to her dorm at NYU Tisch. Most of my other friends will have already left. I'll still be here, packing and whatnot. But that's one month away. And I have so much to do before then.

Bridget and I always start out the summer with a summer bucket list. Classic, eh? My bucket list items are sub-par: get healthy, learn to rollerblade, put glowsticks in the pool and go swimming, have a paint fight, go on a boat. Yep. Insane, right? And yeah, go on a boat is on that list - I've only been on a boat twice in my life. Rager.

Nope.

And how many of them have I accomplished? Well, I went for a bike ride and took the dog for a walk this morning. And discovered apples make me sick. That's pretty cool. I also bought rollerblades and went cruising around my neighborhood until I cruised a little bit too fast down the death trap of a hill I live on, concluding my rollerblading escapade on my neighbor's lawn, flirting with their fence.

It's July 25th. I have little over one month left. I need to do something with my life. We always chalk  summer up to being endless days on the lake, partying with our best friends and living life to the fullest. Admittedly, that's not really who I am - the whole prefer books over people thing - but I still want to make this a summer to remember. There's gotta be something more (insert Sugarland singing "Something More" here) than wishing there's something more.

That "OMG I NEED TO BLOG" moment I just had.

I know, I know... I'm a terrible blogger.

I'M SORRY I'VE REJECTED YOU BLOG, WILL YOU PLEASE TAKE ME BACK?

Kidding not kidding.

I'm back because a) it's late at night, and we all know that's when I blog the best (I'm a weirdo, what's new?), b) because it's about time I blog again (once again, blog, I am sooooooo sorry about that. Life, ya know?), and c) I totally had an epiphany where I sat up in my bed (I was just chilling on my phone...my typical level of being social) and said "OMIGOSH I NEED TO BLOG ABOUT THIS IT'S SO BLOG-WORTHY WHERE IS MY COMPUTER I'M HAVING AN EPIPHANY LAUREN BETTER NOT STILL HAVE IT OH WAIT THERE IT IS OKAY."

Ta-da. Typical Julia banter. So here's my epiphany (with a little prologue, of course):

I took risks today. Not the typical teenager risks, as in go-out-drinking-and-hope-I-don't-get-caught or sneak-in-waaaaaaaay-after-curfew-and-hope-I-don't-get-caught (although I've totally done that, more often than I'd like to admit) or (fill in the blank with whatever stereotypical risks teenagers take).

First of all, I rode in the car while my sister - who has her permit and has only driven twice, never with the entire family in the car - drove. Big mistake. I will not being doing that again. Why? Because a) I forgot what sheer terror is when you're flying down the highway and you almost hit the median, b) I actually want to go to college and fall in love and have a family and get old yadayadayada, c) it's too damn stressful, and d) her driving makes me nauseous. Point made.

The real "risk" was texting a boy. Oooooo a boy! Those are rare! Did it come climbing out of the forest? Nope. I just have an assertive friend who apparently said Here, text this girl, you'll like her.

Works for me. Haven't met the kid, but he's an absolute sweetheart and quite the gentleman. (Not the point.)

So we're getting to know each other, I ask him why he loves to run, and he asks me why I love to dance. I had to pause and think in the awkward type one sentence, pause and think. Type two more sentences, go back and alter the first. Continue until you think you understand why you love what you do style. It was quite the process. Shitty first drafts, ya know? When I had it all figured out, I texted him back, then took a screenshot because I'm an idiot and it took me a good eight minutes to figure it out. Here's what I said:

Because I cannot not dance. Haha :) Because when I'm on the stage, nothing else matters. It's the music, the floor, and me... I get lost in it. I'm doing something that involves every part of who I am, from my body to my emotions to my memories. It's like feeling nothing and everything at once, and I live for it.

Well, that's as profound as I get. Hahaha...yeah, no really, it is.

The conversation got me thinking, why is it that I love to dance? How do I put that into words? It's like explaining what water tastes like...you just can't (you could try, but you'll probably end up looking like an idiot; that's a fair warning).

A lot of people dance because they're good at it. Valid reason, eh? (Canadian, eh?) I don't. I don't know why I dance. Because I always have. Because it's fun. Because I cannot not dance. I can explain what I feel when I dance - and even when I don't dance - but I can't explain what compels me to do it. Maybe it's my brain going Hey, remember what it feels like when you nail your turns? When you're one with the music? When you feel like you are the song and the story behind it? All that stuff you like? Maybe you should do it again. Good job, brain! You've created a fifteen-year addiction. At least it's not meth.

This question has become more relevant as the summer comes to a close and college looms closer in the not-so-distant future. I'll be dancing because I cannot not dance, but it'll be different. It'll be Companydance, not Kay Marie and Carol's School of Dance or whatever-theatre-production-I'm-in-at-the-time. It'll be a place where people are perfecting their craft, majoring, minoring, frolicking, wandering, questioning, creating, and hopefully enjoying. Me? I'll just be there, doing my thing. Trying to be better than myself, better than the day before, the hour before, the minute before, and the second before. Why will I be there? I don't need a thesis statement for that. I'll be there because I physically want and emotionally need to be there, living for the feeling of nothing and everything at once. Live on, dance addiction, live on.