I, on the other hand, wake up within five minutes, if that. It's not that enjoy waking up; I hate it. Just ask my mom. She will tell you horror stories of forcing me out of bed and onto school. If given the chance to not have to sleep ever without any negative effects, I'd probably still give the option the middle finger.
|But then I'd request that I be given the gift of flight instead.|
Somehow, I can just spring up and be awake and *gasp* peppy. I'm that unwilling morning person, that person at the coffee maker in the office, telling everybody that she doesn't need coffee because she's caffeinated on LIFE. This was also a very useful tool in college because I'd wake up five minutes before class and be able to get there, all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.
That being said, when I go to sleep, I go to SLEEP. Good luck waking me, and if you do manage to accomplish this, expect a giant, cursing grizzly bear to rip your face off then proceed to cuddle back under the covers. However, I will remember none of it.
|Where's your right eyeball?|
In the past, I have apparently yelled at the dog, talked to Three for an extended period of time (and made sense, which WHOA), mumbled at Bina when she jumped on my head, laughed at a joke in a movie, etc. Thankfully, I do not sleepwalk, which is actually a pretty big fear of mine. I don't want to wake up as I'm about to get hit by a car while wearing only socks.
And this is just on regular nights. When I'm downright tuckered out, that's a completely different story, which brings us back to Three's new schedule. Half of me wants to write a pamphlet to employers on how to deal with diabetic employees, because every single boss that Three has had just simply does not understand that he needs a consistent schedule and time to take snack breaks. Instead, they push him to his furthest limits and are surprised when he doesn't perform as well. Anyway, in solidarity, I stayed up after he left for his second day of first shift suckage, after not being able to sleep at all the night before. I did a bit of writing, skimmed over Facebook and Twitter, read a few articles online and from a screenwriting book I borrowed from the library, and took Zola for a walk. I even tried doing a Jillian Michaels' workout after I noticed that I wasn't as tired when I was being active. I got about, oh, five minutes in before my body was like, "Nope, you crazy lady." So I changed, thinking I could trick myself, to a Firm video, and again, only a few minutes passed before I was just lying on the floor.
I chose to congratulate myself, though, since I'd made it to 2:15P without going to bed. Three called me a few minutes later to let me know he was coming home. I remember apologizing to him over the phone for almost falling asleep and the next thing I knew, it was 3:45A and I was pissed that cold air was blowing in my face. Somehow, I'd managed to get up off of the floor and gotten into bed with no recollection of actually doing said action. Three was on the floor* and had turned on the air conditioner because he's insane. Well, he's just hot all the time because of a high metabolism, but also insane because he wants to live on an ice sheet.
|I don't wanna live at the South Pole.|
As he climbed back into bed at my insistence, he explained that he'd tried to wake me when he got home but that I didn't even respond and he was kind of concerned that I might be dead. He apparently poked at me and I didn't make any noise, not even an irked grunt, so he leaned in and was relieved to hear my breathing.
Now, this kind of worries me.
1) Would I wake up in an emergency?
2) What if, when Three and I have a kid, it starts crying and I don't hear it because I am dead to the world?
3) Why am I weirdly proud of this?
These are all very important questions, I think.
But here's the thing. I was even MORE awake than I usually am after this marathon death-sleep. I was chipper and ready to accomplish all the things. I was up before the sun rose, and I actually enjoyed it. It was bizarre. I consider myself a nightowl, and to be honest, I tend to get more done, at least creativity-wise, at night, since there are less distractions. But based on this new discovery, I may function better during daylight hours.
I'm not sure what I think of this, although I'm secretly hoping that Three keeps this schedule. But that's out of selfishness, because he hateshateshates this. I'm kinda torn ...
Well, since I am, again awake prior to dawn and I have a cat staring at me over the computer screen, I'm going to go and start my day. Maybe vacuum to anger the bitch downstairs. Who knows. The world is my oyster.
And tonight? Yeah, I'm probably going to again sleep like the dead.
* In efforts to avoid disturbing me when he's restless, he has this habit of taking one of our blankets and either going to the floor or to the closet.