Sleep Deprivation

For those wagering at home, 4 was the magic number of consecutive blogging days I could manage.

Today’s post might very well lack the usual je ne sais quoi that you, my beloved reader(s), have become accustomed to. I’m pretty exhausted after what was by in large a sleepless night on Sunday, followed by a full day at the office today. I realized around 3:00 that I’d forgotten to eat lunch, and that I was coming dangerously close to face planting on my keyboard. While that isn’t an uncommon occurrence for me, I at least like to make it to Tuesday before I start hallucinating at my desk. Regardless, I’m writing this now in fear of writing like a guy who can’t write good, but for you my intrepid reader(s) I shall go bravely into the good night.

I’ve always been a night person. When the sun goes down my creative juices really begin to flow, my omnipresent thirst for knowledge manifests itself in countless hours of Wikipedia searching, and overall my subconscious just seems to pound on the front door of my psyche while shouting, “hey, can Andy come out and play?” Unfortunately though, my job and most of American society tends to operate during daylight hours. Therefore, I have to suppress my innate desires to rock and roll all night, so that I may manage projects every day. Sometimes though, my subconscious refuses to let me do so. Last night I got about 4 hours of actual sleep before my brain woke up and started pondering life, the universe, and everything. The result of this was that I could not get back to sleep, and so here I now sit in a droopy eyed stupor.

A lot of times, writing actually helps me in these situations. By putting stuff down on paper, or in this case on the computer, it’s almost as if I’m able to stop my thoughts from ricocheting around my cerebral cortex and allow my mind to relax. Naturally I didn’t do that last night, choosing instead to stare at the ceiling while listening to the nosiest cricket on the face of the Earth chirp just outside my window. On an unrelated note, if that cricket is back tonight, I’m coming outside with a homemade blowtorch in my quest to discover which is louder — a cricket’s chirp or his death scream as he is roasted alive. Inquiring minds want to know.

I’m hoping to sleep well tonight, because if I don’t then tomorrow’s post may not qualify as a known language. In a completely nonsensical closing, tonight I stopped to grab some dinner and inadvertently discovered the definition of first world sadness:

Sadness – When you pick up Boston Market for dinner and discover when you get home that they forgot your cornbread.

Until next time, I hope that you all have a gr- zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

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