Insomnia Journal: Entry 1 - 3:23 a.m.

The sound of the wind. The dankness of my room. The unending thoughts and memories that race through my mind. This is now the fifth night where I have not been able to sleep. The nights are long and so, so boring. I've tried drinking until I can't see straight, but that does not help me to get actual rest. Watching TV only helps me to count half hours, while I watch mindless drivel as the clock ticks by. I try to read, and while I used to enjoy a good novel, now I can't concentrate, and the characters and plots become disconnected words while my undisciplined mind drifts into less pleasant introspection.

I need a change. I need a sunburn. I need to feel something. I need

As the biology professor droned on with his lecture, Tom Jones finally felt like he would be able to get some sleep. His head bobbed, and he shamelessly gave in and shut his eyes. He had tried to choose an inconspicuous seat in the back row, but the rumblings of his snores offended the ears of Professor Blankewiscz, and he cruelly interrupted Tom's much needed slumber, to the great delight of the class, sending ripples of snickers and laughter around the room.

"Are we greatly intruding on your nap time, young man?"

"Not at all," Tom's head snapped to attention as his classmate elbowed him.

"Perhaps it is because you find yourself truly out of your depth, as a science major?"

"I am sorry, sir. I actually find your passion for the subject of evolutionary development to be somewhat comforting," Tom said sitting up and trying to wipe the sleep from his eyes, "and I suppose that relaxes me."

The professor gave a wry smile. "I suppose that is a backhanded way of calling me boring. Well forgive me. It was my mistake, though done with the purest of motives. I was respectfully trying to stimulate your young minds. It is true, I may have used some big words, but that's why your laptops come equipped with a dictionary, is it not? In other words, I was giving you the benefit of the doubt that you would rise to the challenge, to leave my class feeling more intelligent for having been here. But I can see in overestimating you, I have been very much mistaken."

"No professor, it's not your fault that I don't feel smarter after walking out of here," replied Tom, dryly. "But to arrive at the conclusion that I lost interest in your lecture because I didn't understand it, that would be the leap, I'm afraid. No, your current fifty-five minute lecture can be summed up in the concept that altruism and selfishness are behavioural, not subjective, and is part of our genetic programming, which is now being overcome by what amounts to an extreme version of free will."

"Well, that is somewhat of a simplification…"

"Hardly anything new or inspiring. Thomas Hobbes explained altruism as enlightened self-interest, like 350 years ago, so I'm not entirely sure why you thought you would blow our minds with this regurgitation of standard western philosophy."

"Now, listen to me you impertinent young-"

"And why do you insist on disapproving any everyday phrases in your speech? If you really cared about making yourself understood, then try expressing yourself in a concise manner, with clear, fresh imagery. Is this your way of expressing your intelligence with your knowledge of the English language? Would you therefore conclude that if someone did not speak English well, they were less intelligent?"

"Don't put words in my mouth…"

"And while I was able to have a very restful sleep during your constant blathering, I did enjoy your offhanded remark that 'American political opportunities are heavily loaded against those who are simultaneously intelligent and honest.' You probably should have mentioned devastatingly good looking as well, if you're trying to use your career failures as a platform for veiled bragging."

"That's enough!" screamed Blankewiscz.

"But I did enjoy something you said," continued Tom, unintimidated. "Your explanation of the selfish gene theory as expounded by Richard Dawkins would certainly explain my own lack of sympathy I'm feeling, or not feeling, these days. Since I don't have any children, I have no need to selfishly preserve my own genes. And here," he said with a dry chuckle, "I just thought I was becoming a psychopath."

Blankewiscz looked like he was about to blow a gasket. "Now I perceive that you are obfuscating the issue with typical creationist red herrings."

"Creationist? You take that back. I am certainly not in any way a creationist. Personally I don't believe in creationism, fascism or any other isms for that matter. To quote the wise philosopher Ferris Bueller, 'Ism's in my opinion, are not good. A person should not believe in an ism, he should believe in himself.' And red herrings? Come on, seriously. I barely understand what that means. You're just trying to confuse me again with a worn-out metaphor that you barely understand yourself. I'll tell you what I believe. Evolution, if that even is the correct understanding of human development, has stalled, and unless we use the technology and knowledge that we have at our fingertips, our species and our very existence is under very real threat. We have to improve our genetic code, not through eugenics, but through cooperation, selfless effort, and innovative thinking. Nothing can be accomplished or achieved to improve our situation if all we're thinking about is the preservation of our lifestyle or increasing the profits for the coming fiscal year."

Blankewiscz cleared his throat as if he was talking to an ill-mannered child. "And how do you propose improving our genetic code? Should we not work with what evolution has handed to us?"

"No! The whole point of technology is improving our situation and giving us some sort of advantage. We can't eat raw meat, so should our ancestors have shown their disdain for the technology of fire and artificial heat? Now you're being ridiculous. No what I'm saying is, if we can modify our DNA to be more disease resistant, or recover more efficiently from an injury, then should we not pursue that?"

Tom looked around to the class. He failed to find any support. Most of his classmates looked down at their laptops in a sort of embarrassment. Others mocked him with their stares and their grins. Tom sat back in his seat in resignation, trying to get some more sleep while Blankewiscz launched into a tirade of scorn and ridicule aimed at Tom's intelligence.

'I'm getting too old for this sort of thing,' he thought.

As Tom packed up his backpack to rush out of class, an imposing figure tried to block his path. Not in the mood for more confrontation, Tom just put his head down and knocked him out of the way.

"Hey! Watch where you're going, punk!"

Tom tried to ignore his accuser, but the muscular winner of the National Football Foundation Scholar-Athlete Award, was not accustomed to being snubbed. "Hey! I said I was talking to you!" He grabbed Tom's shoulder, who without thinking, grabbed his hand off his shoulder, and with one swift motion spun around, putting the jock's thumb in a Krav Maga finger lock. With slight pressure against his thumb, the big jock was brought to his knees. "Okay, you have my attention. What do you want?" he said, easing up on the pressure on the guy's digits.

"Alright! Jeez, you're crazy! What's wrong with you?" asked 'Flash' Thompson.

"Well you may have all the time in the world to piss away, Eugene, I unfortunately have somewhere I need to be," replied Tom, releasing him and turning to go. "Maybe we can get into what in fact is wrong with me some other time. But I thank you for your interest."

"Why do you always have to act so damn superior?" said Flash, still rubbing his hand.

Tom paused and looked back at Flash, examining his features. Flash was probably not a bad guy, although he did enjoy a laugh at other's expense. Flash had been blessed with it all: rich family, athleticism, and even sufficient study skills to earn an MBA, if he kept at his current pace. He was an all-around all-star, and was already used to commanding respect. Tom tried to search his own feelings. Flash hadn't really done anything to earn to be treated with such rudeness, and Tom thought that he should experience some sort of remorse for treating him so. But Tom felt nothing, neither pity, nor affinity, nor guilt. So in response to Flash's question, he simply stated, "It's not an act," and he walked away.