I am not a morning person. I have tried to be. By necessity, I have been living as one for over 8 years now and that has confirmed it.

If I had my druthers (let me know if you see some on sale on Groupon or something), I’d Wake up around 11am and go to sleep around 3am. I am convinced I’d be more well adjusted and happier. Sadly, remaining employed has been more of a paramount necessity than catering to my Circadian rhythm, so I rise around 7am to a succession of alarms, arranged in ever increasing levels of annoyance (though Pandora on my Power Metal channel has been pretty effective).

As a side note, I’ve considered committing some heinous crime and having my alarm tone be my confession. As I don’t sleep alone, I think this might work brilliantly. On the other hand, I might decide 5 more minutes is worth jail time. But I digress.

The past couple of nights I’ve given myself license to stay up a little late and I’m feeling it. It’s like bad drugs. None of the euphoria, all of the downsides. The memory is more full of holes than a colander. My temperature is up. I’m not quite to the point I’d murder someone for sleep, but I could see that on the horizon.

Ironically, I’ve been very productive and responsible today. I just have done it after making myself wobbly. I don’t intend to repeat the experiment.

I wish I could shake this, the high pitched whine in my ears and having to choose which limbs I wish to feel at any given moment, but the only thing that will fix it is sleep and there’s more to do before that can happen. I’m just positive that I won’t one-more-thing myself tonight until my eyes start to cross and even the dog is looking at me like “I’m worried about you man. Seriously.”

If we could weaponize this feeling, we might end war in a week.

Outside of wishing to share my current state of being, there are no great insights here. I hope that if you’re reading this, you’re no where near as impaired. If you are, nap. Just nap.

See you on the other side of fatigued. Peace.