Drowsiness is red alert!

Posted by at 12:32PM

Or, why I should actually read all those Sleep and Dreams pamphlets sent out on my dorm chatlist.
Recently I wrote an article detailing my involvement with, and impressions of, this year’s ASSU Special Fees process. I like to think it was written in an affectionately satirical style, and expressed both my frustration with funding policies as well as my respect for the hard job that all the senators and committee members have to do.
Today, however, I get to mock myself. So the gloves can come off!
The story begins at this year’s Viennese Ball. It was full of beautiful glittery lights, trays of delicious little cheese puffs, and twirling dancers. Even if I weren’t a dancer it would have been spectacular— I rarely get to attend functions that involve giant ice-sculptures of waltzing couples. I enjoyed wearing a silky evening dress so much that I may just have to get myself appointed ambassador to Austria so I can do it more often.
Around midnight, after a few hours of tango, salsa, cross-step, and free-form spinning/ waving my arms, I ventured upstairs to the Hyatt’s palm lounge to take a short break. The room was filled with comfortable leather chairs, and before I knew it, I had dozed off and was having an interesting dream about how Stanford had turned into an ice-skating rink. Everything— Hoover Tower, the quad, Old Union— was surrounded by ice, and all the students were speed-skating to class. At some point in the dream, I tripped while hurrying to philosophy class (I’m a klutz even in my subconscious) and woke up.
At this point, I should have heeded Dr. Dement’s famous words from Sleep and Dreams and headed home— especially given that the Special Fees hearing for SOCA, the group that I’m financial officer for, had its Appropriations Committee review at 9 am the next morning. However, I stayed for just a few more dances . . . and then went out to get food . . . and then talked with friends . . . and then caught up on my Olympics-watching . . . and didn’t end up in bed until 6 am.
I didn’t even hear my alarm.
So here I am, sitting in Old Union, still in my pajamas (there was a mad dash to the Senate offices at about 10:15 this morning, and I didn’t take time to change.) I even showed up to plead my case in pigtails. PIGTAILS. Any hope I entertained of being considered an intimidating woman is gone forever.
Hopefully I’ll be able to reschedule— my group, the Student Organizing Committee for the Arts, is responsible for Stanford’s annual spring arts festival, as well as student art exhibits and performances that take place year-round. I don’t want to be crucified by tribes of angry artists because I overslept—they may not look it, but painters and musicians can be vicious. So here I am, pleading for mercy from the ASSU senate. Ahhhh, how the mighty have fallen.
But guess what?
I still know where my towel is.



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