I do this all the time. I go to bed telling myself I’m going to get up at 5 a.m. and do something productive. Yet, when 5 a.m. rolls around – even though I’m often up feeding my daughter at that time – I’m like “screw this” and I cuddle up with Lola instead, and we go back to sleep.
Clearly, I did not get the “early” gene from my Dad. That man was up at 5 a.m. every morning when I was a kid to get his daily jog in before work. What a flippin’ show off.
I have long admired those who can get by and do amazing things in life with little sleep. Martha Stewart was my hero for a time in my early twenties. (She was my hero for the sleep-three-hours-a-night-and-run-a-multimedia-empire trait, not the crazy-raving-bitch trait). Though I’ve little doubt that the one has to do with lack of sleep.
So I’m not a crazy-raving-bitch. Most of the time. At least I can take solace in that. I still find myself making the list of things I could do if I gained one or two more hours to my day.
- Exercise more and lose this god-awful baby weight.
- Write that series of novels that will be the next major franchise. My heroine, Lola, will give Harry Potter and Katniss a run for their money. Not to mention those pale vampires…
- Learn a language using Rosetta Stone, or some such program (I’d learn Spanish so I could talk smack to the guys in Texas who think I don’t understand what they’re saying about me – because, right now, I don’t understand what they’re saying about me.)
- Watch an early morning news program so I can stop admitting that I get all my news from Facebook.
- Walk Sadie, our Black Lab, who continues to shock the vet with her weight gain every time we take her in. (“Dear God, 90 pounds?!? What are you feeding her? Does she ever move?!?”) Brian and I look down and shuffle our feet, guiltily.
- Organize my closets. Right now, I manage to pull a few things out on the weekend, look at the stuff for awhile, scratch my head, and shove it all back in, overwhelmed.
But, no. I hit “snooze”, sleepily question why I would want to get up when it’s still dark outside and my bed feels sooo nice, and I slip back into dreamland.
Dreamland is one of the reasons I like sleep so much. I have very vivid, offbeat dreams. (Imagine that.) A typical Jamie dream sequence follows. Enjoy.
Last night, I dreamt I was at a company event. (Our company picnic was Friday in Seattle, and I had to miss it because I work remotely). Clearly, I resent this because here it is showing up in my dreams.
Anyway, I’m at this company event and it’s at a fairly nice hotel. I’m roaming around looking for the food (typical), and I see a few plates on this table outside of the hotel restaurant with some fancy-schmancy food on them. There were only 2-3 plates so, as I begin nibbling on the food, I’m thinking to myself that the company really skimped on the buffet this year. Granted, this wasn’t hot dogs and burgers but, when other people got hungry and this wimpy spread was gone, chaos was going to break out.
Suddenly, the concierge yells at me from across the lobby. “Stop zat! You are eating ze restaurant ‘specials’ display!” (Concierges are always French in my dreams. Why is that?) I grab another carrot, shrug at the concierge, and head off – even more ticked that my company appears to not have provided any food at all. Cheapskates.
I head out to the courtyard and find a galvanized tub full of ice and half-empty bottles of soda. (God, company. What the hell?) I grab one – a Peach Nehi – and join a table with a girl I waited tables with seven years ago, a tall redheaded boy I had a crush on in tenth grade, and my best friend, Stephanie. The girl I waited tables with – known for being the…er…”for a good time call” type – is flirting with the boy I had a crush on in tenth grade and feeding him cheesecake. I wonder where they got the dessert.
I then notice Steph has several empty bottles of liquor in front of her and begin scanning the area for the bar. My inner drunk gives up when I realize that Stephanie appears distraught. I learn she’s stressed because the mob is after her. She thinks SHE has problems. I just ate the freaking hotel display tray, for Pete’s sake.
I notice an SUV across the street with a couple of tall, white-haired Norwegian’s getting out and staring straight at us. I grab Steph and we begin to run around the front of the hotel, but – apparently – the Norwegian mob has developed the skill of telekinesis and Stephanie is pulled from me and dragged across the porte cochere and directly to the SUV. The mob doesn’t even have to move! I call “FOUL!” and look for the refs, but there are none.
And, then, I’m in a multi-level department store. This time I’m watching the events instead of participating. A photographer, who likes to wear flexible black dance shoes (?), is snapping photos of shoppers at random.
Without realizing it, he accidentally snaps a shot of an alien who has deep black eyes with no whites around them. The alien knows the picture has been taken and trips the photographer down a back staircase into a dusty storage basement, where the alien has set up a projector and shows the photographer a slide show of his own photos. The photographer begins noticing aliens interwoven with people, with only slight oddities that set them apart. Barely noticeable, but there. He chillingly realizes that we are all surrounded day to day by aliens. They have infiltrated the human race. The alien with the black eyes then morphs his own image on the projector screen into a picture of Hermione. (I think this happened because I was looking at pictures of memes online the other day and saw this: http://www.veryfunnygifs.com/pictures/emma_watson_morphing_into_richard_dawkins_8921.php?page_id=3)
I am then back with Stephanie. Mob issues forgotten, she has come to visit me from Kansas City and we are in line to try on clothes in the department store. I mention that “Men in Black” is on TV tonight (aliens) and that we should grab some snacks (food) and watch it. She seems hesitant.
There is a family in front of us – a mom, a dad, two girls and a boy. They are discussing what to have for lunch (“no corndogs!”) and the Dad keeps telling the little boy to “put down that bra!”, as the little boy has found a sales basket with lingerie near the dressing room. They aren’t carrying any clothes, so I’m not sure why they are in line. The sales associate offers up the next room, and no one moves. I’m annoyed.
Suddenly, Stephanie is telling me that she’s going back to Kansas City. She finds “Men in Black” too dark in subject matter, and she’s worried that the negativity will somehow affect her son. Who isn’t with us. (The Dad in front of us nods in understanding.) My try-on pile forgotten, I explain that “Men in Black” is only one option – we don’t have to watch it. We can watch something “less dark”.
She says she’s lying. She really prefers how she looks under the yellowed fluorescent lights of the dressing room area. The lights in my house are “just too white” and she’s not comfortable under those lights. So she’s going home.
I’m now being chased in a college dormitory. Instead of running downstairs, I grab the metal banisters, lift my legs, and slide down from floor to floor. I can hear my pursuer not far behind me. I pick a floor and run into the bathroom, which starts as a bathroom, complete with janitor mopping the floor, then turns into a restaurant. (Gross). I’m running through the bathroom/restaurant and notice people from my company dining and waving at me to join them. I hide under their table and they sneak me food.
My favorite dream as of late was a few months back. My friend Steve and I had created the latest non-tech game fad that was sweeping the nation. We would dress up in soft cotton muslin from head to foot and go full-body sliding on the freshly waxed hallways of area high schools, much to the dismay of the high school custodial staff. (Insert annoyed sweaty janitor here, shaking his fist).
I remember he and I, in different hallways, yelling a reminder to each other to “dodge the cockroaches!”
Now, why would I want to wake up when I have this much fun dreaming?