I'm conscious and I'm at work. That's pretty much the limit of cognisant abilities today. As you may be aware, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part 1 came out in cinema's everywhere this past midnight. Being the crazy die hard fan that I am, bucking violently at the idea of growing out of this phase, I was in attendance. And now here I am, at work, trying to maintain some form of awareness on two hours of sleep.
I've never been like some of my comrade's who, in college at least, seemed to live, nay, thrive on minimal sleep. A healthy dose of Z's have always been a priority on my agenda. I never pulled an all-nighter to finish a paper. I can count the number of times on one hand that I stayed out until the sun came up, and they were generally not sanctioned by myself.
More than that, I am strictly diurnal. As much as being a night owl has always appealed to me, what with my penchant for the paranormal and my infatuation with star gazing, I've just never been able to sustain it. My body craves sleep. My body relishes in it.
Getting home at 3:30 and waking up at 5:45 was a feat. I'm proud to have accomplished it. I whipped my blanket off of myself like a champ, bravely facing the icy air and chilly wood floor. I dragged on my jeans (thank god for casual Friday, brushed out my hair, and even managed to make my face look somewhat fresh. I am thoroughly and utterly pooped, but I console myself with the knowledge that in a few short hours I'll be tucked safely in my bed, blankets piled high, my head filled with magical dreams.
For now I'll pat myself on the back for a movie well watched and my brain's willingness not to ignore my alarm. I will smile bravely at the guests who zoom in and out of my office and have no idea of the girl screaming for sleep behind my slightly red eyes.
I will also attempt to stop being so melodramatic and go drink a cup of coffee.
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