I’ve come to the conclusion that sleep is overrated. I know this because I got a full eight hours of (medicated) sleep last night, and yet I was still miserable all day today. If I’m going to feel this lousy after all that sleep, I might as well stay up late and watch old movies (or old Survivor episodes) until I can’t stay up any more. It couldn’t make things any worse.
The fact that I took a sleeping pill last night accounts for the extra sleep time. It probably also accounts for the way I had to drag my body through the day, and also the fact that I woke up every hour or so during the night. It seemed like sound sleep because I couldn’t move, but you don’t get much rest when you can’t stay asleep for more than an hour at a time.
Anyway, I might have to do away with that little experiment. This was the fourth Sunday night in a row that I’ve tried the pill, and I always felt that Mondays were better because of it. But the drop-off from Monday to Tuesday was pretty steep, and by Friday I was useless. This week, for some reason, the uselessness started on Monday.
This morning I manage to snap at several people, including some who have actual feelings. When I roar at the Boss, it sifts through him like air that’s only a little heavier than usual. When I yell at Julie, I can feel her deflating, right through the phone. Then I feel even worse than before.
So I’ve given up on trying to figure out how to get the right amount of sleep. I’ll just take it as it comes, whether it’s two o’clock in the morning or two o’clock in the afternoon. It doesn’t seem to do me any good anyway, so I’ll just consider it an inconvenient necessity and fight it as long as I have to. |