So. Freaking. Sleepy.
Every day I get home from teaching around 4:30 or 5:00. I help the little one (and rarely the big one) with homework, answer a few parent emails, do a little class planning, maybe grade a few papers. I cook dinner for 6:30, get the little one in bed before 8:00, and then try to finish up my teacher-work by 9:00 (unless there are essays to grade, in which case this shifts to 10:00 or 11:00) so I can do a little writing or editing and still get to sleep by 10:00 so I can get eight hours in before the alarm goes off at 6:00. Pretty typical day for plenty of full-time workers in any number of positions, right? Right.
So why the hell am I so. freaking. sleepy?
I blame it on my father. Not only did I inherit his nocturnal nature, I inherited his need for massive amounts of sleep. And I’m really good at it. I can manage ten hours a night easily and still need a cat nap after lunch. On the weekends, this shifts much closer to twelve hours if my kids and yappy dogs allow it. I’m pretty sure that instead of evolving from apes, my family evolved from koalas. No…sloths. Definitely sloths.
I love sleeping, but I hate needing it so much. I have a coworker who’s the most active person I know. When he’s not teaching classes, he’s helping out around campus mowing the grass, weeding the garden, trimming the hedges. The man is full of energy. I asked him what his secret was, and he was happy to share it with me. Caffeine and nicotine.
Given that I’ve been editing this novel for half of forever and have written exactly three chapters of the sequel, I think maybe he’s on to something. Sign me up. Marlboro’s and Mountain Dew, please.
Or maybe I’ll just take a nap.