Tuesday, October 26, 2010
I've always been amazed by those perpetually alert people who can operate a vehicle or adequately perform their jobs or, you know, butter a piece of toast on less than six hours of sleep. I'm fascinated by them because I, on the other hand, need at least a good seven or eight hours of sleep to even have hope of landing feet-first as I fall out of bed.
Adam says it's my best talent, sleeping, and I think I have to agree with him. (Although eating is a close second to sleeping.) I love sleeping and truth be told, I'm darn good at it! I've always been able to manipulate things enough to get a good nights sleep at least five nights a week. Even with a newborn, I was averaging about seven hours of sleep a night. It's a priority for me because when I don't get enough sleep I turn into an irrational, emotional, irritable WRECK! I know some of you reading this think I'm absolutely ridiculous and you probably eat people like me for breakfast (after getting only four hours of sleep). I have nothing to say to that, really, except that I'm a tiny bit jealous of you.
Sometimes I think of all the things I could do during those extra hours of awareness, but then all that thinking about doing things makes me sleepy.
It became apparent that I was "different" in preschool when our teacher would read us a story before naptime and by the time she hit page four, I was snoring. Without fail, thirty minutes later, Felipe (the ever so handsome teaching assistant) would have to shake me from a deep sleep and help me wipe the drool off my face as the other children bounced into their chairs, ready for snacktime. And while they sat at the table, happily chatting with eachother and eating their graham crackers, I'd sit there in the corner resting my sweaty head against the cold metal bookshelf behind me, making attempt after attempt to pry my eyes open, feeling disoriented and trying to figure out where the heck I was.
Now that I'm an adult, naptime is not a scheduled part of my day, although I must admit that I'm not really sure why. I firmly believe that a short naptime for employees would greatly increase productivity in the workplace, but I won't go into detail about that here. No, I'll save that for our next employee meeting or perhaps a letter to my congressman. Anyway, to help combat daily fatigue, I'll occasionally curl up in the front seat of my parked car during my lunch break. I set the alarm on my cell phone, recline into a comfortable position and doze off for a few minutes. I can sleep anywhere, really. It's like this instinctual act of survival I have, to catch a little shut-eye at any given opportunity. Which explains why the extra space under my supervisors desk looks so comfortable and inviting sometimes... it's not because I'm lazy, it's because I'm a SURVIVOR!
I suppose it's fortunate that I work in a small office, because I'm afraid that if there were more foot traffic near my car, someone may walk past, see the form of my lifeless body on the seat and call the police because they think there's been a homicide. That would just be the perfect way to ruin a nice nap, wouldn't it? A knock, knock, knock on the window followed by an, "Excuse me, ma'am, are you okay?"
Well, today was one of those days that I really needed to nap, if even for just a few minutes. Except I must have been more tired than I thought because I fell into such a sound sleep that I didn't hear my alarm going off at first... or maybe I heard it, but the music somehow fit into my dream. All I know is that by the time I actually realized what that noise was, I was startled enough that I shot into an upright position so quickly that I got a head rush. And for just a few seconds I was thrown right back into preschool: tired and confused, looking around groggily, wondering where the heck I was.
Only this time I didn't have a lovely Latin man wiping the drool off my face.