Sleep With Me

In principle, I am opposed to the very biological need for sleep. A third of your life, spent doing absolutely nothing. Not even nothing in an interesting way like, watching Duck Dynasty marathons, creating Star Wars themed playlists, or playing eight hour shifts of Call of Duty, but nothing like looking at the back of your eyelids nothing. Dull if you ask me.

If you’re thirty and slept the requisite eight hours, you’ve already spent ten years of your life sleeping. Ten years sleeping? People get married, divorced and remarried in that time frame. Just think about all of the stuff you can do with that extra time? I mean, that’s what I used to do, as I fought common sense to stay up late and wake up as early as possible in order to squeeze the most out of my waking hours.

But this post isn’t about that I’ll sleep when I’m dead mentality, this post about the concession. The concession that all I want right now, at this very moment while my fingers tip toe across this keyboard, is uninterrupted sleep.

The kind of sleep where I’m watching a television show that I’m interested in but not upset about if I fall asleep on it, and the sleep function on the tv shuts it off ten minutes after I start producing z’s. The kind of sleep where I’m not awakened by one of the triplets who want to pee, or have pee’d and need cleaning, or just decide they all want to sleep with Mom and Dad one by one thirty minutes apart from the other. The kind of sleep where the wife’s fear of all things crawling, produces a sudden yelp, the lights, and then me looking for whatever it was that woke her up for the next seventeen minutes doesn’t wake me. The kind of sleep where my fear of the kids destroying my house in the morning while I try to sleep late doesn’t make me walk downstairs.

That’s the kind of sleep I want right now. Sleep with me.

Snoop Dog Sleeping

A Dream Deferred

If the day goes as I believe it to be, then it could be one of those long drawn out affairs that saps your energy with each tick of the clock. Sure, I woke up at 4:00 this morning and I may or may not have sleepwalked through the front door of my job, but that’s not really important here.

Sleepwalking might be an exaggeration since I was vaguely aware of my surroundings, able to speak in semi-coherent sentences and still able to walk at an acceptable pace. Nevertheless, my head feels as light and as connected to my shoulders as a helium balloon tethered to a chair by a piece of string. The morning activities have a dull cinematic feel, like watching the landscape streak by while you stare blankly out the window of a train. I am in the world, moving about even, but I am not yet of it.

I do as I do every morning; put my things on my desk, take my wallet and keys out of my pockets, grab my water cup and coffee mug, and head for the break room. I try and refrain from making this walk look as laborious as it feels, but the weight of the sleep interrupted hangs on my feet like ankle weights. I feel like I look like I feel, which today, feels and looks like refried crap.

I fill my cup with ice and water. I fill my mug with the generic brand of coffee they keep stocked here. I’m double fisting coffee and water and hoping something good happens on the way back to my desk.

Then it happens, my feet start to feel like I’m pulling them through several feet of snow, and my legs are no longer able to move. I had a brief, but real vertigo spell a few years ago, and I feel the world spin as I notice the pattern in our office flooring come rushing toward my face. I hear my coffee mug bounce once before my face hits the floor and everything goes dark. It’s hard to say what happens after that for two reasons: 1) I never passed out and did a faceplant at work. 2) I haven’t worked out that part of the fantasy.

What I have worked out, is that when my face hits the floor, I fall into some deep Van Winklian kind of sleep. The kind of deep sleep that surpasses the standard eight hour requirement and moves into a mild bear-like hibernation. Nevermind the passing out at work and the (or quite possibly the lack of) confusion that follows; the purpose of that sequence of events is simply a path to the sleep. The sleep I supposedly don’t want, the sleep I definitely don’t get, but the sleep I so desperately need.

My wife was telling me something about something Joel Olsteen said about speaking good things into existence, and I wondered whether or not speaking on (or in this case daydreaming about) sleeping fell into that bucket of speaking good things into existence. A recurring dream about literally falling asleep has to mean something more than being tired right?


A Day In the Life, November 28th, 2012 (pt. 1)

5:45 a.m. – Alarm sounds on my wife’s Blackberry every day at this time. It is an effective alarm because it is very loud. How loud is it? Loud enough to be heard from downstairs. Guess who had to go downstairs and turn it off.

5:57 a.m. – In bed again. With no safety net (no snooze button, alarm fully disabled), the possibility of falling asleep and running behind is very real. The anxiety of finding underwear, uniforms and shoes, keeps me awake though.

6:07 a.m – Get out of the bed and wake The Rose. She’s autistic, and despite her many oddities, she’s actually the most obedient child we have. She went to sleep before dinner, so a bath is required.

6:20 a.m. – First child is dressed, and only her hair needs to be done. My wife, her mother, the slowest thing since molasses takes this task on. This process will last up until and possibly after the bus arrives.

6:33 a.m. – The bus arrives, and The Rose boards with no problem.

6:34 a.m. – Boil water for coffee and veg out for a few minutes. Vegging out basically means I check various social media streams while ogling local weather and/or traffic ladies on the morning news. (but don’t tell my wife about that last part, she doesn’t like that)

6:45 a.m. – Make and consume coffee.

6:57 a.m. – Say good bye to the wife as she heads off to her job.

7:00 a.m. – Wake up my oldest daughter.

7:15 a.m. – Check to make sure oldest daughter is out of the bed.

7:33 a.m. – Wait at the bus stop with the oldest daughter. Odd thing though, the bus arrives and my daughter gets out of the car as slow as possible. The bus has to clear a few cars parked on the side of the street in order to pull over to the curb. Once the bus passes my daughter, she starts walking back to the car. She opens the door and says something about getting written up for chasing the bus (which is bs btw), and I tell her to go and get on the bus because it is pulling over. She walks back, and sees the bus is still inching farther down the street to pull over, but she turns back towards the car again. Seeing enough of this foolishness, I let down the window, stick my head out, point at the bus and scream ‘GET ON THE BUS!’.

7:34 a.m. – Go to the grocery store to pick up breakfast and dinner stuffs.

8:31 a.m. – Take call from oldest daughter. She forgot her basketball gear for practice after school. Which means, I have to take it to her before I go to work.

8:40 a.m. – Quick clean up of the kitchen, while I prep breakfast for the trips and start meat sauce for the po’ mans pasta AT THE SAME DAMN TIME!

8:55 a.m. – Serve breakfast, turn on PBS, and finish up sauce.

9:00 a.m. – Sneak upstairs to move bowels, wash thine body and remove unwanted facial hair.

9:20 a.m. – Come back downstairs, watch Sesame Street with the kids and veg a little.

10:10 a.m. – Received a 3 messaged text detailing the in and outs of her lunch order. I put it on Instagram for reference.

10:37 a.m. – Leaves house.

10:45 a.m. – Arrive at daughters school to drop off gym bag. (second time this week with this nonsense)

10:56 a.m. – Head towards Potbelly’s for sandwiches.

11:23 a.m. – Arrive at the wife’s jay-oh. Drop off sandwiches, and exchange quick innuendo.

11:44 a.m. – Arrive at the jay-oh for a half-day’s shift.

I’m gonna stop here and make this a two-parter. This is way longer than I thought it would be, but whatevs, find out what happens next in Part Two.