All right, that’s it!! If I am not going to get any rest any way, I wanna be wicked!
What’s wicked about being too sleepy to don makeup and cute shoes? How is spending the day trapped in the house with a cooing baby in my jammies wicked?
There is nothing remotely wicked about my life. Nothing even the tiniest bit racy!! (Well, okay, the quiche I made the other day with heavy whipping cream might have been a bit wicked.)
But regardless of the relative innocence of my days, there is no rest for me. My commanding officer is up at all hours, all nights, trying to hit a new marathon nursing record or standing at our headboard kicking me in the face. Sometimes he kicks his dad too, which makes me feel better.
Wasn’t life a bit sexier when my sleep loss was due to being up until 3 a.m. dancing at a popular nightclub or hitting the party circuit? I was content with sleeplessness in my early twenties. Even in law school, when it was mostly due to hitting the books all night long, my sleepiness had an edge to it, a purpose. Now the only thing with an edge to it is my tone of voice when anyone asks me to do something for them.
Ugh… there is not enough coffee in the world.