The Night Chronicles...and other tales of Insomnia

In New York, there are many great reasons not to sleep. The bars don't close down until 6am, fitting in a late night workout at the gym, anxiety over keeping your 20-hour-work-day job, 5am Black Friday sales, secret underground Kanye West concerts, the endless construction right outside your window…

But my reasons, lately, remind me why I love my city so, so very much.

Standing in line outside of Santos Party House in the Lower East Side on a Sunday night, I had no idea what I was in for. I thought in my hand I held tickets that would grant me access to a relaxing and inspiring evening of Spoken Word, a poetry event I anticipated to suit me perfectly. To me words and their patterns of placement, intonation, color are so sexy, vibrant, elite. This art is my wanderlust. After waiting in line for what seemed like an eternity, I walked through the doors and took in the scene. I quickly realized this was not just any ordinary event. This...was Poetry Erotica. I knew then that I had walked right into my next story. There was Hennessey, there was corn bread, and there were the Dollhouse Lesbians occupying an entire side of the room. Walking around were naked men and women, painted and handing out chocolates on platters. The lights were low, the music moved us, and if there was ever a moment when the City failed to amaze me, this made up for it. It was then that I decided I was in dire need of ordering my first drink of the evening, and this called for a Long Island. I then witnessed lines I never thought I’d hear, acts I never thought I’d see, and some very, very talented artists. I woke up the next morning with a headache, a missing scarf, and a subtle hesitation to whether or not my memory of the evening served me correctly.

And then there are the other reasons I’m not sleeping.

I have recently had the pleasure read: misfortune of meeting two of my neighbors at a slightly more intimate level than I had ever hoped. In this overpopulated island, one must expect that when buildings are pressed so tightly together, windows sharing alleyways are bound to also share other, less desirable commonalities. Since the weather has cooled down and the drone of my air conditioner dissipated, there are two assurances I have come to expect throughout the week. It all started about two months ago while taking a nap one Saturday afternoon....

[Enter neighbor number one]

I first thought it was her TV set, and then I surely thought it must be an X-rated movie scene on repeat. But then...then I came to realize this was actual, legitimate Sex Olympics occurring just three windows away from my very own room. I am in awe of this couple, each and every time I realize it's on again. Not only because of the high rate of occurrence, but also because of the sheer extremity of the situation. I'm not sure whether to be annoyed or jealous. Throughout the months, it's so intense she’s actually woken me up from sound sleep in the middle of the night. I supposed one could view this as talent, but I believe I'm in for a long winter.

[Enter neighbor number two]


I am in a bad, nightmarish, Mexican music video that just will not stop. Each Thursday, Friday and Saturday night, until precisely 2am, I hear authentic Mexican fiesta musica, on repeat, at excessive volume. Closing my window doesn't help, there is no use. I try to fall asleep with all six of my pillows piled on top of my head, but still I am haunted by memories of my Tiajuana road trips in college, praying I make it back across the border...

I guess these things come with the territory. Half a bottle of red is perched patiently on my vanity, next to my makeup brushes and a map of Kenya. The map is nailed on my wall next to another photo of graffiti: in bold black marker, inside of a heart it reads, “You Cannot Stop New York City.” I read it every morning when I wake up partly because it’s the first thing I see but mostly because it gives me a sense of motivation, empowerment and understanding. And plus, every time I tell someone new how long I’ve lived here they always respond with, “Oh, well you’re a real New Yorker now.” And I’m going to be honest when I say that even though this means I get far less sleep that I would if I lived anywhere else...I really, really like it.