Lazy Girl

I sleep in just about every other morning.

I don't mean to do it. I wake up. Grab the cell phone (the modern day alarm clock) off the dresser and press a button to stop the chirping at 6:30.

I lay there for a while, contemplating whether I'm ready to conquer the day - ready to meander through the domestic jungle that is my apartment. Clusters of dirty glasses and piles of plates, clothes strewn about, waiting to be called to duty.

Then I press the button on the cell phone again. 6:35. Really time to get up.

No movement.

6:40. One more rousing attempt by the alarm clock. At this point my brain is saying Seriously. Let's not dick around. We've got stuff to do...

And that's when the subconscious takes over and my synapses retreat to greener pastures full of grazing sheep.

It's all good in Dreamland until my brain starts wrangling with a nightmare. It happens like clockwork - every time I pay for my extra hour of ZZZZs with a crisis laden scenario that rattles me to consciousness.

Today it was a work nightmare.

Crappy shows, crappy stories, crappy attitudes. Bummer meetings telling me I'm doing everything wrong/I'm getting assigned to the Sunday Morning show/We're going commercial free.

Then I realized it was all a big, scary booga booga dream.

And for the rest of the day I dragged ass and struggled with a major case of ADHD.

Sleeping-in is sooo overrated.