I open my eyes and look at the clock again. Well, not a clock. What is this, 1980 ? I picked my phone up from underneath my pillow and unlocked the screen. 3:33am. Wow. It’s been an entire 12 minutes since I checked my phone last. I guess it’s just wishful thinking to hope that blink was really a good night’s sleep. I try to count my blessings on nights like this though. At least I was in my favorite pajamas. My birthday suit. Yes, I am naked. Bliss. I have my rose gold satin sheets on the bed and the fluffiest chocolate colored blanket you’ve ever seen in your life.

I’ve had this habit – I guess we can call it a habit – since I was a kid. The habit of not falling asleep at a decent time. What is considered a time decent or indecent anyway ? If I did happen to fall asleep, my chances of staying asleep were wildly low. The doctors call it insomnia. I’ve been eating an apple a day since I was 4 years old and for what ? I basically live at Good Samaritan Medical Center. Not like that’s the only lie I live.

So this is when I decide whether or not I will continue to struggle with my sleep or wake up fully and start my day. Or the secret and not so sexy third option – scroll social media. Some people call it doom scrolling or panic scrolling. However, feeling terrible and feeling panic or doom aren’t the same to me. So maybe it’s okay. But what do I know ?

Social media it is ! That’s the conclusion I came to after about 13 milliseconds. When it comes to social media I use it the same way I live my life, in the background. I don’t post much and I don’t have a ton of friends or followers. I prefer to get on and observe. And if we’re being honest… to judge. I like to judge people. Maybe we can talk more about that later. There isn’t much else to do with my mind and it’s a fairly harmless distraction from my real issues.

I open Twitter first. This is my favorite late-night platform. During normal people hours, I prefer Facebook. Tiktok I save for long commutes. Everything else is shit. When I click the app, the first thing I see is a tweet from Dusty, my sort of best friend.

If you ask him, he’d say we are definitely best friends. We’ve known each other since we were maybe 3 years old. His family lived next door to my grandma’s house in Shreveport. I’ve always been shy so I didn’t have much to say seeing him playing in the yard or the greenspace with the other kids. Until one day he just ran over and pushed me down. Flat on my face. And that somehow made us friends. We’ve been inseparable. Well, slightly separable. He, like other normal people, likes to go out and do things. I prefer to stay at home, in the background.

Fortunately for me, that was the only time he ever assaulted me and he’s been a sweetheart ever since. Still at this ripe age of 26, he’s very much a sweetheart. This tweet of his was 9 hours ago, “I can’t wait to have a woman to buy flowers for every day. Buying them for myself isn’t as exciting.” If you didn’t know him personally and weren’t attracted him, you’d probably think he was pandering. But that’s just really how he is. Very much a Pisces. Anyway, I keep scrolling:

“So imma be honest idek how y’all face an entire J by yourself…” says @asiagraye

“nonblack people are so disgusting in this way lol” says @gbennylola

“11-1 11 everything changed” says @Wale

Alright, enough of this. That’s the thing about being restless. Nothing sounds like a good idea necessarily but everything feels like it has potential to be a good idea possibly. If I don’t scroll though, what else can I fill my time with ? I decide to text Dusty, “you awake ?” I wait for 3 minutes before deciding to just turn my phone back off and slide it under my pillow. I get as comfortable as I can. I’m laying on my stomach with my arms folded under my cheek, beneath my other pillow.

I find myself thinking about how my grandma always told me not to sleep with my phone. Also not to place my phone in my bra. Also not to use microwaves or the wifi at restaurants. She said that all of these things would give me cancer. “Are you listening to me Katara ? Goddammit, you kids and these new fangled machines I can’t even get your attention anymore.”

I feel a hint of confusion but also gratitude. My grandma is beautiful. She’s always been beautiful. She even won Miss America in 1962 and 1967. She could have been a super model if she wanted to. She just never wanted to. I noticed I’m still looking down on my phone as I’m thinking this. I feel the sun beating down on my forehead and I’m so thirsty. Grandma hands me a water.