A blog post in which I pretend write like someone that isn't me.

Here is my beautiful inspiration. Sadly, my cheap imitation won't include pictures...yet. Maybe.

On any given morning, I have three alarms set. I'm still not sure any of them actually work. I've rarely heard them go off, and I chalk this phenomenon up to either some amazing sleepwalking talent I never knew I had, or my room being haunted by lazy ghosts. Perhaps it'd be more logical to say I just don't get enough sleep, but that's ridiculous (and incriminating). Thanks to always sleeping through the buzzers, I get way more than enough sleep. I've gotten fourteen hours in a single night before.

But it's never enough. I'm like a hopeless addict. Upon waking, I'm already craving more. My bed looks so seductive in all that satin and fur. That Tempurpedic technology caressing my body. Oh, baby, behave.

If I manage to fight the urge until I go about my daily business, by evening I find myself riding a wave of accomplishment. Sleep? Sleep is for the weak. I know what you do to me, sleep. I've wizened up to your tricks. I'm not attracted to you at all, anymore. I have a new lover, and his name is Consciousness. He has a job. He gets shit done. You don't pull your weight around here, and we are over.

Consciousness and I have great adventures together for hours on end. Too many hours. And he ages very quickly, and soon enough he's just not that attractive anymore. I come crawling back to sleep around 3AM, planning to sneak out in the early morning unnoticed. That never happens.

I wasn't always addicted. I had a life before sleep. I used to wake up at 4:30 every morning, go for a mile run, cook breakfast, and finish my homework. I never missed the extra three hours of sleep I could've gotten. How I did it, I have no idea, though the espresso machine right outside my bedroom might have helped.

I've read about sleep deficit before, but no one has claimed it can last over six years. I am proof that it does, and it has a steep interest rate. All those sleep loans I got in high school for "getting shit done" purposes became impossible to pay off once the recession hit. I'll go out on a limb here and create a new conspiracy theory - there are sleep banks. And the government didn't give them a bailout. It's the only logical explanation.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to get out of bed.