OK, not really. Everyone needs sleep. But I'm finding out that the more I deprive myself of adequate slumber, the more I get done -- even if it's executed in a fitful, manic sort of way.
I'm also finding that with very little sleep comes near-catastrophic visions of genius (at least that's what it feels like), coupled with the impulse to off myself if my beer, while it's precariously balanced on the arm of my infant son's high chair, happens to spill. Good thing I don't own a gun.
They say Edison survived on naps. That he slept in a chair while holding ball bearings, and when the bearings fell, it would wake him up. Then he'd be back inventing toaster ovens.
I've been trying that. But truth is, naps leave me zoned and insane. For example, my oldest son just now walked into the living room and, for lack of anything better to do, pee on, or destroy, decided to kick a ball across the floor and knock over my 22-ounce bottle of Arrogant Bastard Ale.
I've already boxed his remains. The funeral's in two hours. After my nap.
2 comments:
Well, yeah. It's not like it was Pabst Blue Ribbon.
Yeah, I learned years ago to never set a beer on the floor. Drinks are not supposed to be on the floor, so it becomes the drinker's responsibility. On the other hand, if the bottle were on a table and a flying ball hit it, boxing of said child would be appropriate. As it is anyway, I suppose: what else ya gonna do with remains?
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