Eight hours of sleep, that’s all I wanted. Eight measly, puny, ridiculously short eight hours of sleep.
The media is always yammering about these eight hours of glorious sleep that I’m supposed to be getting every night. HAHAHAHAHAHAHA
Where? and How?
Maybe I can add together all the times I fall asleep at red lights or catch a quick snooze in a parking lot waiting to pick up a child.
But NOOOOO, they say these minutes don’t count towards my eight hours. I’m supposed to get ALL of them together, in a row, uninterrupted.
I mean, who does this?
Do these illusive human beings really exist?
Or all they all made up like the illusion that adulthood will be this awesome phase in your life when you finally get to do what you want.
I set out to get the answers once and for all.
After a week being dragged around like a pink teddy bear stuck to a bumper, Friday night was the night for me. I set out to cross ‘Eight hours of sleep’ off my bucket list and boy, was I ready for it.
I arrived home from night out with friends at 12:10 am. Ok, so I’m off to a bad start. Technically, it’s already Saturday, but I can still do this. I set a land speed record changing in the PJs, washing and brushing what needed washing and brushing, and was under the covers by 12:15am.
A quick check of the phone and calendar verified that #1 that alarm was indeed off and #2 there was nothing looming on the schedule I had to be up for.
Oh man, THIS WAS GOING TO HAPPEN! Commence sleep time!
I’m out like a light.
Usual dream about needing to go to the bathroom with no where to take care of said duties. Check. (Don’t ask. I don’t know what it means either.)
Unexpectedly pleasant dream where I battle Jenny McCarthy to a dual and win the affections of Donnie Wahlberg all for myself. (Hey, in the words of Miley. ‘It’s my dream, I can dream what I want.)
Rain, thunder, and tornado warning that I slept through. Check. (Sidebar ~ Pet Peeve, asking me if I heard that thunder last night. No, no I did not. I was sleep.)
I’m doing it. This is happening. I’m going to make it!
Suddenly, my eyes snap open to the vision of T-Dog staring down at me.
“Mom!?!? Are you awake? Are we going to have breakfast?”
I look at the clock. 7:57 am
That was it. That was my one chance, my Halley’s Comet moment to grasp for the gold ring, and I’ve missed it. Gone forever.
Or at least another 75 years.