I’ve got no one to blame but myself for how little sleep I got during my trek from New York to Belfast. Got coffee before the plane… Bad idea. Got coffee while on the plane. Bad idea. Slept through dinner on the plane. Worst idea. Once we finally arrived in Belfast after a two hour bus ride from Dublin (during which I sat next to a young man with no sense of personal space), the sight of the SCL office was a glorious one indeed. We had about an hour to wait for the rest of the group to arrive, and I sat down to start getting to work on my blogs.
Every new second that I started to type a word, my eyes went heavy and I couldn’t even see the words on the screen. For about thirty minutes, I couldn’t be bothered to talk to anyone. I think I temporarily became a zombie. My second wind hit after about an hour and I had an unusual amount of delusional energy. Honestly, the rest of the day was a complete blur. I remember getting into my room at Ulster university, seeing my bed, crying a little bit out of complete joy, and falling so deep into sleep that I didn’t wake up for nearly twelve hours. A few unfortunate scholars said they didn’t sleep well that night. But as for me, I truly can’t recall another night of my life that I’ve slept so hard or so deeply. It was glorious. That night of sleep, I think, is burned into my brain forever as the one memory I’ll have of my trek to Belfast.
