Sleep is for the weak.

I lay in bed with my eyes closed, trying to fall asleep without success. I grew up like this: long nights of just laying there, wondering when my mind would get tired and give up, finally letting me get some rest. When I was a teenager it got so bad that my parents got the doctors to prescribe some sleeping pills to me. Once I went to college, though, I stopped taking them because I wanted to become independent of anything that tied me to my childhood. The first few nights without them were fine, but as soon as I began practicing my piano every day, the nights grew longer and longer until I only slept when my body could not take staying awake any longer.

I turn on my side to see if it is more comfortable, but it is just as bad as before. Sighing, I sit up and leave the bed. The hotel room may have a lot of obstacles for someone like me, but I made sure to make my way around the room when I arrived to see where everything was in case I needed to do anything like run around trying to find something. At this point in time, I do not know what the hour is and I do not have anyone there to tell me. I shuffle towards the door of the room and escape. The cold air in the hallway blasts me, making me shiver. I wish I had thought to wear something a little heavier.

I feel my way down the hall, eventually reaching the stairs. I do not trust myself enough to take elevators because I do not know where all the buttons are nor do I know what order they are in. There would be no point in me getting lost in a hotel in the middle of the night. As I descend down the stairs I think about what I am trying to find. I think I want fresh air from outside, but it may not be that. It could be someone to talk to, or a television to listen to. Whatever it is, I do not think. I just let my body drag me around the hotel like a voodoo doll.

When I reach the bottom of the stairs and go out the door, I hear someone at the front desk swivel in their chair. "Relax," I tell them. "I'm only looking around." I snicker lightly at my comment as I move forward slowly, careful not to fall over any coffee tables or get tangled in a folded rug. I hear the attendant start to say, "Do you need any--." He stops when I cleverly dodge furniture I nearly tripped over when I first arrived in the afternoon. Judging from the squeak of the chair, he sits back down and leaves me to my adventure.

While my feet lead the way, I try to figure out where I am going. I am almost certain I am heading towards the smell of whatever the chefs are preparing for breakfast in the morning, but I run face-first into a glass door. I grumble and push the door open, exiting the building to go outside. The air is thick with humidity and makes it hard to breathe comfortably. Quickly, I tie my hair back, glad I have a rubber band with me. Without realizing it, I take another few steps forward into the street. That is when I hear a car horn and feel something pull me down, back towards the sidewalk. As I try to stand back up, I hear someone grunt below me, as if I had hurt them. Without knowing where to reach out to help them stand back up, I gently ask, "Are you okay?"

This will be one of many nights without sleep for the next few weeks.