The Horsemen Hours

I’m tired.

Physically, emotionally, socially – tired.

Tired is an understatement;

I’m certifiably exhausted.

At Schulich, I’ve developed an interesting quirk when it comes to stress: I don’t sleep.

Other people can turn off their minds, and savour those coveted six to eight hours of unadulterated relaxation, while I lie in my bed, watching the clock as the seconds tick to minutes and minutes to hours.

Of course, I don’t literally watch the clock. I’ve taken to covering up the one on the kitchen stove with a dish rag.

4, 5, even 6 a.m. – old friends at this point.

I’ve taken to calling the hours past 4 a.m. “the horsemen hours” after the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. Their arrival certifies chaos, certainty that the next day my brain will feel like microwaved plastic.

It's hard to function with less than four hours. Even harder to string together a coherent legal sentence.

My thoughts on Maritime Law, you ask at 9:30 a.m.?

Well, in my opinion, Leonardo DiCaprio’s nap in the waters off the Titanic looks pretty appealing.

Still, it’s not all bad. I may not reach REM, but I do daydream during the horsemen hours.

I’ve defeated Donald Trump in a presidential election, I’ve won four seasons of Survivor, and I’ve even survived the zombie apocalypse.

Once I find the time to incorporate these achievements into my résumé, my next job will undoubtedly be at the Supreme Court.

Then again, maybe it’s best for a Justice to have functioning brain cells. Could my lack of sleep eventually cause a constitutional crisis when I decree that anyone who sleeps more than I do will lose their Canadian citizenship? One can only hope.

Until then, I am left alone to deal with the struggles of a burned out mind. I have developed strategies to cope with my exhaustion. Working out is a must, eating regularly is non-negotiable, and a bubble bath has become my closest friend.

Oftentimes, coping mechanisms win the day. The birds sing, the sun shines, and laughter fills my life.

However, every now and then, when the Horsemen ride out for battle, and my efforts to chase them away prove futile, it takes a conscious effort to keep my inner light burning.

To admit defeat would allow the Horsemen to win, and I ain’t no quitter.

So tonight, I’ll give sleep another shot. Maybe I’ll dream. Maybe I’ll just defeat Trump again. Either way, I’ll wake up, pour myself a coffee, and face another day, tired, but still going.