1/07/2008

Warm Milk and Honey

I’m starting to feel the first tinges of sleep deprivation- the long staring matches with the keyboard, the twitchy coffee fixes, reading the same page 5 times only to realize that you’ve only really absorbed the first three lines. I’m beyond yawning, but certainly not beyond bitching about it. All my mechanical functionalities, all my pistons and valves are fueled by a caffeine/adrenaline/dopamine cocktail- which if history repeats itself, I’ve had one too many.

It seems fitting then that I’ve been listening to unhealthy amounts of Radiohead, In Rainbows, which magically appeared on my desktop compliments of a Mister Chris Cannon (not the House Republican who got in trouble for internet gambling and shady finances, but a far cooler Mr. Cannon). Typically, it would take far more than a couple nights’ lack of sleep to slow this tough broad down, but I’m willing to submit to lethargy.

Thom Yorke is such a pretentious asshole, “too important to be cleaning up someone else’s shit” (his quote, about changing his son’s diapers)…but he makes great music for sleepy people.

At what point does one get too tired to sleep? What a disadvantageous phenomenon. And last night knowing that I would have to be on camera today and knowing that I would be at a staff meeting until midnight, prepped for bed like I was hitting the sack for a one-time-only with Johnny Depp. I washed up good, slipped into something “a little more comfortable,” put on some of the ‘sleepy time mix,’ lit a candle and read a page of my book five times. I was already spent and feeling lofty so I should have hit the pillow like a ton of bricks- a bear and moose nuzzled under my arm like puppies.

But I rolled until the sheets hogtied my legs. I laid still until the restlessness caused me to throw a tantrum to challenge any three-year-old-don’t-wanna-leave-the-ball-pit-yet one. I even tried Michael-brand tree meditation, to no avail. And warm milk and honey does not make you sleepy as your grandmother once professed. Warm milk is gross even when coupled with something as simply delightful as honey. Warm milk tastes like what cows look like. Besides, in a couple hours you will have to pee and the bright bathroom florescent light will only remind you further that it’s 4am and you won’t get a wink of sleep tonight.

All scenarios considered, I would love nothing more than to spend an hour or three sleeping with the window open so the breeze can roll down my back like a wave, listening to Radiohead, just like every day freshman year, spring term, right around this time of day.

And don’t get me started on my tricycle nightmare…

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