Time And I

Forty-Three

Weeks passed, and I constantly felt claustrophobic. No matter where I was, what I was doing, or who I was with, there was no space to breathe. No way to relax. It seemed as if I was losing track of time each day, preventing me from planning my days accordingly. Tuesdays, band rehearsal. Friday and Saturday nights, concerts. Sundays, at any given time, another fucking concert. We were booked every day of the weekend for the next month because of the holiday seasons. People were back for Thanksgiving; they'd be back home for Christmas and New Year. Bars and clubs wanted bands to play for them, and while some nights we'd headline, other's we'd open or play after the headliners.

Any time I didn't have with the band was spent either studying or playing drums to vent my frustrations. As much as I loved the concerts and playing for roaring, excited crowds every night, it was stressful. I needed to be able to play just for me, do what I've always loved to do on my own. As Buddy oh so elegantly described, drumming was my vibrator. All I had to do was play until I climaxed and the worries vanished and I felt relaxed.

With adrenaline running through me every night after a show, it was hard to unwind and fall asleep. It leaked into my weekdays. It was impossible to get good sleep anymore, and it was obvious. There were bags under my eyes. Despite covering it with makeup, anyone who was up close to me could see it. And I was always falling asleep wherever I was. I slept throughout lunch two days in a row. I used Devon's shoulder as a pillow, and it killed my neck each day.

"You need to take a break," Buddy demanded, and Devon nodded in agreement.

"No shit," I deadpanned, slamming my locker shut. "It's not like I have time to take one."

"How many concerts are you playing a week?"

"Three for the next three weeks. Then one to two."

"And how often do you rehears?"

"Every Tuesday, but sometimes I'll meet up with them for a one on one session."

"And what do you do the rest of the week?"

"Homework mainly."

"Then why aren't you relaxing?"

"Because I'm constantly on edge now! It's not like I'm enjoying it. I literally can't help it."

"Why not take some pills?" Devon suggested. "Talk to your doctor, get a prescription. Rena has insomnia. She needs help getting good sleep all the time."

"When I have the time, I'll go."

"Make the time," Buddy demanded as he shook my shoulders. Leading me down the hall, he led Devon and I to American History. "What are you doing after school today?"

"I have a concert tonight," I said. "You know, the one you have been dying to attend?"

Buddy glanced away sheepishly before smiling at me. "Call and make an appointment after school. Find some time next week to go. You need proper sleep."

"I know, I know."

"I know you know. That doesn't mean you aren't doing something about it." He stopped in front of the classroom door and crossed his arms. "I know you've been looking forward to being in a band for a long time, but you can't force yourself to take on more than you can handle."

"Then let this be my training," I shrugged, trying to slip past him.

"You shouldn't be training for it in the first place!" he snapped, preventing me from slipping past him. "You used to constantly tell me to worry about my mental health and take mental health days if I needed it. Now I'm telling you to do the same for your physical health."