At 3:15am I woke up, like I do every morning. Not from an alarm clock or strange noises, but because that is when my body says I have had enough sleep, no matter what time I went to bed the night before.
It’s Sunday. I shouldn’t be awake this early today or any other day. I’ve been scrolling through Facebook, Twitter and the sundry content aggregation sites like I do every morning until it’s time to get up and forage in reality.
Three and a half hours later and it’s still earlier than everyone else wakes up on a Sunday and mercifully, I can feel the exhaustion pushing me into blissful, sleepy oblivion. I’ve prepared for this…the double light-blocking curtains are drawn, all the doors closed to the lightening skies, and my MacBook’s screen turned off. I have my headphones on so that the sound of the film I’m going to sleep through will block out the noises of the neighbourhood as it slowly comes to life.
The film is set to loop endlessly, just in case I will be able to sleep for more than its 106 minutes, though I doubt I will. I’d kill to sleep for five or six hours in one stretch. I envy people who do.
I’m desperately seeking the Sandman – I plan to fall hopelessly and completely in love with him. I will wallow in his mesmerizing charms and sink deep into long, uninterrupted periods of comatose rest – where are you, Sandman…? Come home! Please!