muses: lost and found.

I still remember the first time I pulled an all-nighter. It was my first year at Moorpark College, and I was writing a twenty-five page paper for a history class. It was pretty easy, really. Textbook regurgitation, another paper for reference, low teacher expectations. I made a pot of coffee in my mom and dad’s kitchen, and drank the whole thing out of a sparkly plastic travel mug with flowers all over it.

Staying up all night was exciting back then. I was just discovering how quiet things get and how loud houses creak. How at a certain hour, not even the latest of night owls is on instant messenger. How typing the last words of a paper at the crack of dawn and knowing that you made it, that you escaped the deadline, is one of the best feelings ever.

My dad wouldn’t let me drive to school the next day even though I was eighteen. He was convinced that all-nighters equaled car crashes. He drove me to my nine a.m. class and waited for me to turn in my paper. When I got back home, I went into my room and laid on my bed. I didn’t even pull the covers down. I curled up, like a cat, with my grey hoodie covering my head and my converse still tied. My bedspread was cool against my cheek. For one moment, I felt like a champion.

--buelsy (not so spry these days)