Lately, I've been having a serious love affair with sleep and I'm wondering if it's hereditary.
There was a time when I was a little girl, that all my Mom wanted to do was come home from work and sleep. It was summertime and we lived in this apartment complex that was still under construction. We barely had any neighbors and I was the only child living there at the time, so the summer months were unbearable. We had a death in the family recently, so we were both pretty miserable half the time. I'd sit around and watch TV all day; she'd come home and sleep. It got to the point where I would have a pillow waiting for her on the couch with a short note that said, 'Rest, my child.' Eventually, we broke out of it.
But all of a sudden, I think I've caught the family sickness. All I want to do is curl up in bed and sleep. If I have a bad day at work, I rip my clothes off and hop into bed. If I'm feeling bored or restless, I rip my clothes off and go to bed. The other night, I was pissed because one of the networks stopped showing repeats of 'Half & Half'. You know what I did as revenge? Yeah -- I ripped my clothes off and went to bed. That'll teach 'em!
I didn't think there was anything unusual about this phase until I thought back to Mom's Sleeping Summer. Coincidentally, she was around the same age as I am now when she was enduring her slumber. Maybe this is just something the women in my family go through from time to time. I don't think I'm depresed. I'd be lying if I said there weren't things going on that get me down, but that's true of anyone. All of this sleep has had its benefits. I'm able to wake up earlier, which allows me to do some a.m. writing, and then I can actually get to work on time. So maybe this sleep overload isn't such a bad thing.