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untitled writing
Isa's self-diagnosed insomnia meant that she rarely slept for significant amounts of time when everyone else did. When she was younger, this meant reading and re-reading all the books she owned under her comforter until the darkness looming outside her translucent window panes was no longer that of the evening, but that of the morning. She'd always loved books, but because of this they became her refuge. Everyone else went to sleep, she went into her books. They were dreams of a sort, at least, and it gave the nightly routine of "going to bed" some normalcy.

By the time she was 17, and her problem worsened with hormones and additional stress from increasing schoolwork, this grew to include scrolling through the internet for hours, listening to music, and fiddling around with whatever she had in her room that would be quiet enough not to disturb her blissfully ignorant parents. This was what initially led her to practice whittling when her boredom manifested itself in scraping the yellow paint off her pencils with the edge of a shard of plastic from some shattered childhood toy she'd loved too much to let her parents throw out. She gradually honed her skills, escalating to butter knives and later professional woodworking tools during daylight.

Now that she'd acquired both her driver's license and own car, left home, and matured enough to claim her own agency, of course, this meant she may well read or listen to music or prowl the internet, but she also often snuck out to explore the slumbering town or climbed to the roof of her and Livia's shared duplex once she figured out how, and staring at the stars and the few lone cars gliding by to break the silence. This also meant she was constantly falling asleep during the day, which led others to doubt her self-diagnosis and presented itself typically in frequent napping, regardless of whether there was any seemingly viable location in which to nap. Livia teased her about it, but Livia's sleep schedule was not dissimilar from Isa's, what with Livia's high level of nocturnal activity. It was nice to find Isa making coffee when Livia stumbled home at 3AM carrying her five-inch heels and an empty bottle of vodka within which she swore remained a good few drops.

It was unsurprising, therefore, when Graham found her shivering on her roof alone at 2AM with her bare legs crossed and a blanket thrown over her shoulders. Of course, she would wear silk shorts and a camisole despite knowing she was always dangerously freezing and that it was 40 degrees out and simply grabbing the spare blanket off the couch on the way as an afterthought and assuming it would be enough.


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