current entry older entries message board contact
11:04 a.m. - 2004-10-15

SLEEP DEPRIVATION IS YOUR FRIEND!


I'm exhausted.

On Thursday, I woke up at 2:30 a.m.

I laid in bed for an hour, mind racing a mile a minute about nothing in particular before I got up and plopped down in front of the computer.

Susie followed me as she had been awake since 3 a.m.

I let Susie play computer games while I sat in the recliner behind her, telling her what to do because she really really really appreciates backseat drivers when it comes to computer games at 3:30 in the morning.

Finally, she went back to bed and I played games, got this diary updated and then got her lunch and Andrew's stuff together and sent them on their merry way.

Then I laid down for a nap at 8 a.m.

And the phone rang.

And rang.

And rang.

I must have gotten 30 calls yesterday from survey takers to people I hadn't talked to in years.

I never got a nap all day.

So I go to work at the club last night after being awake for 16 hours.

As soon as I get there, I'm yawning.

We had a good crowd, but we had our sour, evil bartender on duty who hates people and life in general and she was rude to all the customers and they packed up and left at 10 p.m.

We were literally down to four people in the club at 10 p.m.

I started packing my stuff up in order to go home.

At 10:10, roughly 60 people walked into the club within minutes of each other.

I unpacked my stuff.

These people were ready to PARTY while I was ready to sleep.

But I rocked their collective socks, jizzjamming out to a mixture of country, hip hop, classic disco and 80s new wave.

FINALLY, at 2 a.m., the manager told me I could go on home but to leave a CD because it was quite obvious that this crowd had no home to go to or something. They sure as hell weren't leaving or quitting drinking.

So I left about 2:15 a.m. ... roughly 24 hours after waking up.

I got home and went straight to bed.

For those of you who have never worked in a nightclub, it's really hard to come home and just instantly jump into bed no matter how tired you may be.

Your adrenaline is still going, your ears are ringing from the music and your ass is tingling with no clear explanation as to why.

So I laid there in bed, going "sleep, sleep, sleep, sleep" in my brain.

About 3 a.m., Andrew strolled in and got in bed with me.

(Susie and I do not sleep together when I've been working.)

Now, I KNOW that all the parenting experts scream "FOR GOD'S SAKES ... DON'T LET THAT KID IN BED WITH YOU!! IT WILL SCAR HIM FOR LIFE!!!"

But I was too damned tired to get up and carry him back to his room.

So I let him in bed with me.

Andrew has apparently inherited his mother's sleeping habits.

We have a king sized bed with enough room for eight adults or 16 midgets.

And where does Andrew want to sleep??

About an inch away from me, squeezing me practically off the bed.

So he's laying there, his head on MY freakin' pillow, snoring like a dog with a tracheometry.

I'm sure there's people who are capable of sleeping in situations like this. I call those people "dead".

I could not sleep like this.

So I got up and moved to the other side of the bed.

This presents a problem because long-time readers of this diary may remember that I sleep with a mask pumping oxygen in my nose all night because I'm a big fat ass with sleep apnea and without the mask, I'm choking half to death all night long and end up getting roughly 3.5 seconds of actual sleep a night.

So I'm laying on the other side of the bed, trying to get to sleep, but I'm so used to this oh-so-sexy mask that I wear each night that I can't get to sleep.

It's now like 4:15 a.m. I had been up for 26 hours and was physically and emotionally exhausted.

But I could not sleep.

Finally, Andrew, sensing in his sleep that Daddy wasn't still sharing the pillow with him, maneuvred his way over to the side of the bed where I was and passed out once again.

This was my chance.

I hopped over Andrew, got back to my side of the bed, strapped my mask on, felt the cool rush of air gliding through my sinuses and ....... laid there.

I COULD NOT GET TO SLEEP.

I remember looking at the clock and it said 5:05 a.m.

The next thing I knew it was 6:20 a.m. and Susie was in the shower, screaming out the lyrics to whatever contemporary Christian song was blaring on her shower radio, oblivious to the fact that I had been up for 27 hours straight and had JUST GOTTEN TO SLEEP.

She popped her head in the bedroom and asked me to get Andrew dressed for school.

I tried.

Honest to God ... I tried.

But my legs wouldn't work. I was that freakin' tired.

"I ... I can't," I said. "I just got to sleep and I'm delerious and blah blah blah."

"Fine," she snapped. "I'll do it. I do EVERYTHING."

As much as I wanted to point out the clean house, the manicured lawn, the fresh, folded clothes, the dinner on the table, the scrubbed toilets and shower ... all the things that she DOESN'T do ... I was just too. Damned. Tired.

They left and I tried to go back to sleep.

I was asleep roughly 20 minutes when the phone rang.

My eyes bolted open and I gave the phone the patented death stare that I have a patent pending on.

It kept ringing.

I picked it up.

"Hi!" the voice chirped. "How would you like a new Master Card ..."

"Eat my ass, you dirty fuckpig," I grumbled into the phone before slamming the receiver down on the nightstand several times for good measure.

After a five minute struggle, it was back to sleepyville.

Ring! Ring! Ring!

Sonofabitch.

"Hello?!?" I barked into the phone.

"May I speak to a woman in the house ages 18-34?" the Iranian guy on the other end asked.

"She left me," I said, trying to sound sad, but coming across as really gruff. "Left me for another man."

(Which technically is true ... she left the house that morning with Andrew)

"Oh. I'm uhhhh...I'm uhhhh...I'm uhhhh sorry," the guy squirmed, trying to think of what to say.

"It's not your fault," I said. "Unless this is Muhammed Akeem."

*CLICK*

Five minutes later ... one way ticket to Slumberville, population me.

Ten minutes later.

RING! RING! MOTHERFUCKING RING!

I now know why Elvis shot up TVs and shit. Inanimate objects aren't so inanimate when you're trying to sleep.

"What??" I barked into the phone.

"Mr. Bob, this is Blah Blah Blah and I'd like to hire you for a Christmas party."

Finally. A call worth taking.

Bottom line, I made enough money off that call to fund Christmas for Andrew.

And I've had a total of about two hours sleep in the last two days.

Did I mention that I'm exhausted?

0 comments so far
The last one/The next one


NEW!!!Come and write some BAD EROTICA with the cool kids!

My Diaryland Trading Card
Now go write a Suck Ass Poem™
Write me a note here.
Read my notes here.
Hey! Take the Uncle Bob Quiz!
What the hell! May as well take the wildly popular Uncle Bob Second Quiz too!
Thanks Diaryland
Designed by Lisa


CURRENT - ARCHIVES - MESSAGES - EMAIL


Have you read these?

The End Of Uncle Bob - 12:28 p.m. , 2009-02-19

Losing Focus While Trying To Write A Blog Entry Is Cool. - 1:47 p.m. , 2008-12-04

Buck Up Junior, You Could Be Digging Ditches - 11:36 p.m. , 2008-10-31

That Sinking Feeling - 6:09 a.m. , 2008-10-28

Return Of The Karate Kid And His Slow Kitty-Lovin' Accomplice - 5:44 a.m. , 2008-10-22

Sign up for my Notify List and get email when I update!

email:
powered by
NotifyList.com

HEY YOU!
Click on the button below to order the book "Never Threaten To Eat Your Co-Workers: Best of Blogs" featuring Uncle Bob.
You WON'T be sorry.

DISCLAIMER


Read a random entry of mine.