I’m a big fan of sleep.  I like to get at least eight hours of sleep a night, especially during the long, cold winter months. Lately, sleep has not come easy for me.

I’ve just begun writing my critical thesis, one of the requirements of my Master of Fine Arts degree. I began to lose sleep over it before the semester even started, because the idea of having to come up with enough intelligent ideas to fill 35 pages scared the hell out of me.  I’d lie in bed writing my thesis statement over and over again.  It never seemed quite right.
When the semester finally did start, I stopped trying to get to bed before midnight. Sure, I was tired from chasing elementary school kids around all day, but working an eight hour day left only the night time hours to work on my dreaded thesis.  So I plugged away, researching my topic, reading every book I could get my hands on and trying to construct an outline for the first time in my life.

For the first time in my life, I overwhelmed myself with schoolwork.  It’s not that I never tried hard in school, I did, I just never let myself worry too much about it.  There were numerous sleepless nights during my undergraduate career at the University of Kansas, but they were always followed by a few days of doing nothing but sleep and watching TV.  This time I not only lacked free time to recover from sleepless nights, I had driven myself crazy with anxiety.  Sleep was not an option.

Luckily, I have an amazing support team.  My MFA classmates have continuously reached out and reminded me why I am putting myself through such hell.  My family helps out with anything they can in order to ease some of my worries, such as watching my dog for me while I spend the day at the library.

On the day of my first deadline, I woke up at 4:00 a.m.   I had a major panic attack that everything I had worked on for the first month of my semester was completely wrong.  I considered calling in sick to work and spending the day redoing everything.  Somehow, I managed to convince myself to click send and away went my first packet of work.

I wish I could say that I slept eight hours that night, but I didn’t.  I still have a lot of work ahead of me, but I finally realized that night, that I could do it.  The next morning, I woke up feeling refreshed, even if I had only gotten five hours of sleep.

For now, I’m okay with the fact that I’m going to have to give up sleep for a while.  It’ll all be worth it in June, when I have a finished thesis and another semester of graduate school completed. And I know just how I will celebrate.

I think some greater force must have been looking out for me when they blessed me with a big family. As someone who is extremely introverted, I have always found it convenient to have so many people to lean on. It’s also been a lot of fun to have four siblings who I consider best friends.

My brother Rick and I have been close since we were young. I’ve been told I was very upset when he started attending Kindergarten because I lost my playmate. I’m not sure I would have actually survived my freshmen year of high school had he not been a senior, and a well-known senior at that. Of course, I occasionally grew annoyed with being Rick’s little sister. But at least people noticed me. Plus, it was really fun having senior boys hanging out at my house.

Seven years ago, Rick moved out to Los Angeles to pursue his dream of becoming a stand-up comedian. While I would have liked having him in Lawrence, Kansas with me, trips to visit him in LA are always incredibly enjoyable.

A few weeks ago, I took advantage of a couple days off of work and flew out to visit him in LA. I’ve been there enough times now (14 to be exact) that I’m pretty familiar with the city and all the things it has to offer. This time we enjoyed a day in Santa Monica, a trip to Westwood and one of my favorite thrift stores, and spent our nights at the Comedy Store on Sunset, where my brother performs. Whenever I go to LA, people always ask me if I met a famous person or if I saw any movie stars walking along Rodeo Drive. Besides a few times when I’ve met a well-known comedian at one of my brother’s shows, my answer is usually no.

On my final day there, we decided to cruise the Pacific Coast Highway in Malibu. It was a beautiful, clear day in LA, which is often hard to come by. We didn’t really have a destination in mind so we just drove. We rolled the windows down, listened to some music and talked. We reminisced about our shared childhood, wondered about people from the past and talked about what we wanted out of life. It was a perfect day.

I didn’t meet any movie stars or see a famous person randomly walking down the street, but I got to spend a lot of time with my best friend and brother. The past couple of weeks have been stressful at work and the weather has been cold and grey. Whenever, I feel like I’m going to go crazy, I stop and think about that lovely day in Malibu and how lucky I am to have such a wonderful family.

Four years ago, I moved in to an apartment with my friends Laura and Raquel. Laura and I had a very good reason for choosing this apartment: We thought the leasing agent was hot.

Laura quickly became friends with the neighbors. I kept hearing about how much fun these people were, especially a few boys from Baldwin City, Kan., who lived across the hall. She told me how they were always offering her food and that they had strung a hammock across the fireplace in their living room. I wasn’t so sure about these boys. They seemed nice enough, but I was more interested in keeping to myself. I was never a social butterfly,  and the idea of meeting new people, especially guys, freaked me out.

The boys’ apartment was also constantly filled. A group of six or seven guys could usually be found hanging out in that apartment. I could never figure out who exactly lived there and what their names were, so I started calling all of them the Baldwin boys.

Then one day, Laura told me about a party the boys were going to at a lake. I was prepared for a night in. After I was promised a paddleboat ride, I gave in and followed Laura across that hall. It was one of the best decisions I ever made.

These boys were entertaining. Friday nights were spent partying with the boys of apartment 310. They played great music, always had a drinking game going and could make me laugh harder than anyone ever could. One party even turned into a dance party. Furniture was moved and we spent hours dancing and body surfing in our small apartment. They were crazy and immature, two things that made me feel like I finally had a place to belong.

During the days, you could always find a Baldwin boy to watch hours of TV, play a game of basketball or take a trip to the store with. I had never felt so comfortable with a group of guys before. It was refreshing.

But the best thing about following Laura across that hall was the chance to watch my best friend fall in love. Having a front row seat to the love story of Laura and Ben has been amazing. From the start, I just knew it was a perfect match. You could always find them cuddling on the couch, teasing each other about silly things or dancing together on Friday nights. Their love was inspiring. Plus, they were both a blast to be around.

Four years after I took that short walk across the hall, I stood at the altar watching Laura and Ben exchange vows. There is nothing better than seeing someone you love so incredibly happy. On the other side of the altar, those boys I had been so reluctant to befriend stood, supporting our friends.

I feel very blessed to have Laura in my life, and I was honored to be a part of her wedding day. And though it took me a while to warm up to the boys across the hall, I can’t imagine life without them.

Editor’s note: for the next two weeks we’ll be running the best of our This Ordinary Day pieces. We’ve enjoyed working with so many great writers and wonderful people and felt it was high time to take a look back at some of what they’ve brought us. If you’d like to see more pieces, please take a trip over to our archives page — it’ll be well worth your time.

— — —

My home state of Kansas often reminds me of an old boyfriend. He would drive me crazy for weeks until I would decide that I had enough. Just when I had worked up the courage to break up with him, he would do something so wonderful and unexpected I would fall in love with him all over again.

A few weeks ago I was fed up with Kansas. It was a combination of the state government’s cuts on education, Fred Phelps staging anti-gay protests at local high schools and the fact that the weather in Kansas was depressing and boring. For what seemed like weeks it had been cold and gray. We hadn’t even had a good snowstorm, which meant that my school hadn’t used a snow day. Snow days are usually the only reason I look forward to winter. The lack of sun made it difficult to get out of bed in the morning and even my dog didn’t want to go outside in the cold. I felt that if I had to stay in Kansas a moment longer, I would lose my mind. When Punxsutawney Phil announced that there would be six more weeks of winter, I finally felt I had the courage to leave Kansas forever.

Then I awoke one morning to news that it was going to be 70 degrees and sunny. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I took my winter coat and hat just in case. All day at work I kept my phone in my pocket so I could check the current temperature. I did a secret cheer when it reached 50. I danced a little when I noticed the sun peeking out around lunchtime. Around 2 p.m. I checked my phone again: 68 degrees. I still didn’t believe it. A 70-degree day in February? It was too good to be true.

But when I stepped out into the parking lot after work, I discovered that such a thing was possible. It was warm, sunny and the sky was a shade of blue I figured was only imaginable with the help of Photoshop. The streets of downtown were packed with people in T-shirts and sunglasses. I drove the entire way home with the window down.

For three days the weather held. My winter coat stayed on the coat rack. We turned off the heat completely. My roommate and I took our dogs to the dog park and let them run free with the dozens of other dogs. Our students got extra-long recesses. The sidewalks and parks of Lawrence were filled with people. Each of us was trying to soak in all the sunshine and heat we could. And like that I was reminded of what I like about Kansas and what I would miss should I ever find the courage to move to one of the coasts. Because even in the midst of a long winter, Kansas finds a way to remind me that spring is just around the corner.

Last week I had one of those days where nothing went right. It was a Monday, of course, and by the time I arrived home I had worked up a nice migraine and wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed and sleep away my bad day. I managed to get my cell phone and myself into the house, but carelessly left my purse in my car.

I recently moved back to where I grew up in, in a suburban town I consider to be one of the safest places on Earth. So when I walked to my car the following morning, I didn’t think much of the fact that the door to my car was partially open. I figured, in my hurry to end a terrible day, I had not completely shut my door. I got in, started the car, and drove about a block before I realized I didn’t have my purse. I quickly pulled to the side of the rode and frantically searched my car. It wasn’t there. So began an even worse day than the one before.

I spent the day canceling credit cards, filing a police report and being angry with myself for leaving my purse in the car over night. It was a horrible feeling knowing that most of the things I needed for the day were now gone. It was inconvenient to have to spend time getting a new license and waiting for my new credit cards to arrive in the mail. But the worse part was losing the little things that meant a lot to me. Inside my wallet was a letter from an old friend that made me smile every time I read it. Tucked in a hidden pocket was the lucky dime my grandma gave me. I was pretty bummed all week about losing these things. It wasn’t too hard to find a new purse and wallet, but it was nearly impossible to fill it. My replacement debit card looked lonely next to my new insurance card.

By Friday, I had received most of my replacement cards as well as my new driver’s license. I was in the midst of telling one of my co-workers my story when my favorite little first grader tugged at my shirt. In her hand was a thank-you note she had written to me for helping her with her work the day before. It was written entirely in pink glitter crayon. I thanked her for the letter and told her I knew just where to put it.

As I walked to my car that day, I was nearly blinded by a shiny penny lying on the ground. I picked it up and placed it neatly in my wallet next to the thank you note. Even though I could never replace the old letter and lucky dime it was nice to know that I had something to fill up my new wallet. Suddenly, the wallet didn’t seem so empty.

Here I sit in the Milwaukee airport, waiting for my flight back home to Kansas City. I’m exhausted, a little overwhelmed and still an MFA student. It’s the last label that surprises me a little.

Last Thursday I was ready to quit. I was ready to drop out of my graduate program. I had convinced myself I never wanted to write anything again. I didn’t want to be in Boston or New York or any of the places I have always dreamed of living and working in. I wanted to go home, forget about writing and pretend that the whole graduate school thing had never happened.

I don’t exactly remember how it started. I was in the midst of beginning my second semester in the Solstice MFA Program in Creative Writing at Pine Manor College (I know, it’s a mouthful). It’s a low-residency program, meaning I only spend the first 10 days of each semester on campus in Chestnut Hill, Massachusetts. The rest of the semester I work with my mentor via e-mail and the occasional phone call.

My trip to Boston had started out very well. I arrived two days before I was scheduled to be on campus with my Dad, ready to walk the Freedom Trail and catch a game at Fenway. I loved seeing so many historical places tucked in to a busy city and the game at Fenway was amazing.

I arrived on campus excited to be back. I found my friends and fellow classmates, Hannah and Kimberly right away. I instantly remembered how nice it was to be in a place where I felt like I truly belonged.

Then we got to meet one of my favorite authors, Grace Lin. Grace recently joined the faculty and is one of the main reasons I chose Pine Manor College. She was even better than I imagined. She even took the time to sit down with me for an hour talking about writing and our families. We bonded over being middle children and our love of cupcakes.

Everything was going so well. I was a writing maniac, growing more and more confident in my work. And then, out of nowhere, it hit me: the doubt.

It was a series of events that triggered it and although I don’t feel comfortable sharing them here I’ll just say that it really made me question my writing. I suddenly felt like I wasn’t a good writer. I wondered if I should just quit. I couldn’t find a reason to stay in the program. I hated it all.

And then like that, the sun came out. Hannah, Kimberly and I escaped from campus and went out to dinner. We talked about how we were feeling. We shared our doubts in our own writing. We questioned the program we were in. Then, we realized that we were exhausted and overwhelmed. It wasn’t really that anything was wrong with the program or our writing. We were just beginning to realize how personal writing really is. For one thing, you are creating art that is going to be misunderstood sometimes. You aren’t always going to get your way. Not everyone is going to love everything you create, but you can’t let others crush your dream. The thing is, I love to write. I want to write. I need to write.

I realize this was just the first of many times I will doubt myself. I know there will always be times when I will doubt my reasoning for being a writer.

Sometimes, I am going to feel trapped. But it’s comforting to know, I have people in my life who will always help me escape.