I didn't have the greatest sleep last night. Which is weird, for me. Usually I'm an excellent sleeper. I've had alot of practice, after all. And it's not like I've got an excuse for crappy sleep; especially since my parents got me a double bed of my very own, finally allowing me to act out my life-long fantasy of sleeping diagonally accross the mattress.
Yes - it's more comfortablethan you'll ever know.
Anyway, last night. The worst part was that even though I didn't have to wake up until half past eight, my internal alarm clock went off at five. And I hate my internal alarm clock. Cause when it goes off, it sounds like this:
WAKE UP! YOU'VE GOT A KILLER WEDGIE! YOU FEEL COLD AND ACHEY AND WEIRDLY NAUSEAS! BETTER GO STARE BLINDLY AT YOURSELF IN THE BATHROOM MIRROR FOR TEN MINUTES BEFORE YOU REALISE YOU DON'T ACTUALLY HAVE T BE AT WORK FOR ANOTHER FIVE HOURS! HAHAHA!
What. A bitch.
Anyway, after that, I couldn't get back to sleep. That's the thing about me and waking up - it always goes one of two ways:
1) If someone else wakes me up, I remain almost completely comatose. I'm asleep with my eyes open, and in this state I'll agree to pretty much anything - especially if the outcome is more sleep, and especially if it involves chocolate. My sister has witnessed this phenomenon on several occasions and finds it hilarious. But sometimes...
2) I wake myself up. And when that happens, I NEVER get back to sleep.
This is especially annoying when I'm in the middle of an awesome dream. And let's face it, all my dreams are awesome. Before all this early-morning madness, I'd been having one where I was best friends with a military dude who happened to look just like Patrick Swayze, and the two of us lived together in this Army station that also functioned as a gym, ping pong arena and all-boys high school where the wearing of uniforms wasn't mandatory. I was living in a men's locker room is basically what I'm trying to say. I have no idea; I think someone's been putting meth in my coffee again.