—MICHEL FOUCAULT, POWER/KNOWLEDGE: SELECTED INTERVIEWS &OTHER WRITINGS, 1972—1977 The clock-radio alarm sounded at 5:45. It was still dark outside. Even though Sonia had been in Washington for several weeks now, I still kept to what was now my side of the bed, as if transgressing into her space would mar a sweet memory. I lay in bed for a while, swathed in the covers, drifting in and out of sleep. The month in the CCU had left me with a touch of insomnia, and I had tossed and turned most of the night. So this must be what Rajiv had meant, I thought. In medical school, when I confessed to him that I worried about whether I’d be able to wake up in the morning during internship, he replied rhetorically: “Do you wake up for finals? Then you’ll wake up for internship. It’s like having a final every single day of your life.” A Neil Young song came on the radio, and for a few minutes I was transported back to parties in the Berkeley Hills, where beer and joints were passed around liberally from one friendship-braceleted hand to the next.
