Skip to main content

ZZZZZzzzzzzz

I have this irrepressible urge to go out and actively seek and destroy the asswipe who invented the alarm clock. If he's dead, my wrath will be passed on to his children and their children's children ad infinitum.

At the moment of his brainwave he didn't realise he would be irreversibly ruining perfectly decent excuses for coming to work late: “The dog was supposed to lick me awake and he didn’t! Blame the dog.” or "What? It was raining! How could I wake up when it was raining!".

This morning, like every morning, my extremely rude awakening consisted of an earpopping screeching alarm sound resulting in an involuntary groan interjected by a few choice words and a flying object now a pile of unrecognizable grit on the floor, all serving as a daily reminder of why I have “sleep early, dumbass” on my To Do lists.

I need 6 full hours of sleep to operate in any capacity remotely qualifying as normal. A minute less and I'm a zombie ready to star in a Michael Jackson thriller remake or just one hell of a Bitch. Well, more of a bitch than usual anyway.

Waking me up before my daily sleep quota is up is a full time job not for the fainthearted (cue in Mission Impossible soundtrack). I've slept through my bro sneaking onto the top bunk and falling off when he was a little kid and through the commotion as he was rushed to the hospital; I've slept through my Aunt’s room burning down, the fire brigade rushing in and the only reason I realised any of it happened was because I got accidentally splashed with water from the hose as I was whisked out of the house hanging off someone's shoulder still fast asleep; I've slept through fire drills at university although the fire alarm was just outside my dorm room. I nearly got KICKED out of my forth year for excessive bunking.

If I know I'm going to get less than 6 hours my bedtime routine involves setting my Once Off phone alarm, my Recurring phone alarm, my radio alarm clock and depending on how late it is, I sleep in front of the TV with the TV on. Sometimes that makes me sleep a little lighter. Usually though, I still manage to turn off everyone one of the alarms with frightening dexterity with my eyes barely open. I have tried selotaping the ‘off’ button on my alarm clock, but clearly that was just plain dumb. It reminds me off my fat friend who used to selotape the chips in the kitchen she shared with her roommate to discourage herself from pigging out on her roommate's goodies. Not much good that did her.

I've slept on a hard cold tiled floor thinking that would help me sleep lighter when I'm desperate not to be late for something, although I crept in from the clubs at 3 am. All I get for my troubles is a back pain from hell in the morning and still find out someone had turned off the alarm while I was sleeping. And even though I was alone in the house, I could swear it wasnt me.

Ideally I need 6 hours. After 6 hours a single frighteningly loud, irritating and unreachable - without getting out of bed - alarm clock will do the job. It takes about 8 hrs for me to wake up without any obvious external influences.

I want to have a full and active social life, going to bed at whatever hour it pleases me and waking up as bright and bushy tailed as the people I go out with. I'm sick and tired of my perpetual tardiness. I'm fed up of responding to "you look so tired" in the morning.

So, I’ve decided I’m getting my comatose ass professionally checked out. But I have a feeling the verdict will be: "You just need to make sure you get enough sleep".
No shit. Gimme my money back.

Comments

Bent Fabric said…
I slept through two hurricanes last year.
kyknoord said…
I'm not sure whether to be jealous or sympathetic. The pressure of photons hitting the window when the sun rises wakes me up. I sleep so lightly that falling asleep sometimes wakes me up.
Lyn said…
As long as you arent sleep deprived, I think i'd rather sleep lightly.

Popular posts from this blog

Paris

I must be missing something because I just don’t seem to get it. Try as I may to partake in the globally shared revulsion for Paris, I’m just not feeling it. I stumbled on yet another blog where the author feels the world would a better place if she was ‘shot into space and left there to die a slow and painful death’. So this begs the question: Why does everyone rag on Paris Hilton? - Could it be her sense of style? No she didint! Is that… *gasp*… the same dress she wore to that thing at that place last month!?! Not only is it REPEATED but also hopelessly OUTDATED! Holy MotherofGod, this must be the end of the world as we know it. So the fluorescent pink top does not go with the lime green mini skirt. Infact it couldn’t possibly go with any colour known to man. Boo-freaking-hoo. Let's line up the firing squad. - Maybe because she’s rich? Selfish bitch. Why didn’t she do the right thing and politely decline her inheritance: No thank you daddy. I would much rather spend my entire lif...

Thgs Tht Ps Me Off But They Realy Shudnt Al Becz Im Nurotik n Mity Irationl Sumtims Espcialy Whn The PMS Sets In n I Hve a Frikn Rash i Cnt Get Rid Of

Nah, just kidding. About writing about things that piss me off I mean. There are just so many I wouldn’t know where to begin. But I wasn’t kidding about the PMS. Or the goddamn STD-looking rash. Anywayz, this is my last post. Lets just say one or two people got hold of this link and I feel that my writing has gotten severely compromised, defeating its original purpose as a forum to express my self-righteous indignation. Besides, i was begining to feel like I'm a modern day Narcissus. I've finally come to terms with the fact that I will never be a writer. But I’ll always be an avid reader, so to my fav bloggers - Bent, Carrie, Kykie - see ya’ll on your own turf. With that said, I’ll leave you all with these profound words of wisdom: Quidquid latine dictum sit, altum sonatur. (whatever is said in Latin sounds profound) Laterz.

Life in the mad house

My Auntie dearest must have been suffering from temporary insanity when in a moment of weakness she agreed (!?!?!) to have every single cousin, second cousin, and cousin's friend we know (or don't know) come spend a week or two with us. This means I’m now sardined with 11 kids between the ages of 10 months and 14 years in a tiny three-bedroom apartment (four really, but one is used as a storeroom). There is always someone in the fridge and grocery shopping is a joke coz these kids throw down (eat) like there's no tomorrow. 8 baguettes, 6 litres of milk, 20 eggs. Every. Goddamned. Day. And that’s just breakfast. The crying, the biting, the fighting, the screeching - my ears have threatened to find a new body. So I get home from work, change into something more comfortable and just go loiter at a friend's till I know the little boogers are snoring in their beds. Yesterday, I came back after 11 and 10 of them were still awake, still running about and still fucking screec...