Yesterday I was having lunch with Jana, and we were plotting plots for this Sunday when we'll wrangle up her four munchkins and make them smile for the camera (or look at the camera, or hopefully glance at the camera). As we chowed down on Mediterranean chicken wraps, Jana was trying to figure out the time logistics of our intended meet-up.
"I think it will be better if we can get together in the afternoon," Jana told me. "Colt naps in the morning around nine, and then again..."
I can't finish her sentence because I stopped listening once I heard that her baby goes down for a nap at nine o'clock in the morning. So I did what I do best and I interrupted her.
"What?! He naps at nine in the morning?"
[Insert the smell of burning, as my brain tried to comprehend this].
"But that would mean...holy cow...garblegarblegarble.....WHAT TIME DO YOU HAVE TO GET UP IN THE MORNING?"
Then Jana chortled that secret laugh that all parents develop when they are inducted into that exclusive club called the No Sleep Hall of Fame. Parents who have been inducted into this hall of fame have no use for their self-centered friends who sit across the table from them, complaining that the cat wakes them up at 9:00 a.m. on a Saturday. In fact, it wouldn't surprise me one bit if these parents wanted to drop kick this friend into next week. Instead, they give a little chuckle over their idiot friend's incredulity and that chuckle translates to this: Oh you just wait. Just wait. I can hardly wait to remind you about when 9 a.m. was an inconvenient wake-up.
And you see Internet, this is my number one--shallow as a kiddy pool--reason for being leery about having kids: when will I sleep? Not getting eight hours of sleep is more concerning to me than potentially raising a psychopath, and according to this month's Reader's Digest there are a lot of high functioning psychopaths out there and WE SHOULD BE WORRIED.
According to the completely non-sensationalist article, everyone can take internet tests to find out if their spouses are psychopaths; if their bosses are psychopaths; if their hairdressers are psychopaths. I mean, thank goodness I didn't waste two minutes of my life reading this article! It's such a relief to have it in print that if someone tries to swindle you out of money or gets pleasure out of publicly humiliating you, that really means they're just a big pile of shit and you should avoid them at all cost. I would never have guessed that on my own. Whew! Thanks Reader's Digest for not spreading fear and worry!
That just wouldn't do, you see I already have enough stuff to be worried about: Are my highlights growing out too fast? How do they get the caramel in the Caramilk bar? Is the rule about the belt matching the shoes iron clad? On a scale of one to ten, how hard am I supposed to care about the current political climate...anywhere?
You see? I really do carry the weight of the world on my shoulders. And when one has such important worries to fret over, can one really afford to be sleep deprived?
I think I'll go rest my head and ponder this weighty dilemma. If you don't hear from me for awhile, it's possible that my wonderful friend might have perfected the kick that is really going to do the trick and get me into next week. I won't be able to correspond, as I'll have to wait for technology to catch-up to me.
But will it ever catch up? What if it never does? Oh dear. What if I'm alone. Always living a week in the future? Will there be other shallow drones to keep me company? Do I have to learn morse code? Or find a lake house to try and correspond with Keanu Reeves via letters posted in a magic mailbox? There are no lake houses around here. WHAT DO I DO?
This is worrisome.
Jana if you only permit me to stay in the present I promise to be on my best behaviour on Sunday. I'll even get up early.
Like say around 8:45...ish.