My first day of Music Theatre Conservatory (yikes, that site’s a total HTML-fail in Chrome) begins in less than four hours. Sleep would have been very, very helpful. Instead, I now have to gird myself for a Longest Day of the Year that is undoubtedly going to feel like The Even Longer-est Day of the Year. This…is not a particularly auspicious beginning.
Even worse, I can feel sleep finally headin’ my way even as I type. “Oh, hey,” it casually drawls as it moseys towards me, “Am I late? Whatever. Let’s do this.” Any minute now I’ll conk right out, and then I’ll be even more enraged when I’m dragged back into consciousness at 7:00, because if there’s anything worse than no-sleep, it is way-too-little-sleep.
Sleep is a big deal for me. It is, in fact, my most favorite thing. I am of the mind that those with the propensity for it should be given special leave to spend the bulk of their time curled up under a big fleece blanket on a good, springy mattress, deep in a bear-like hibernation. Think of the wee little carbon footprints such a group of people would leave! Hell, we’d be doing all the rest of you crazy day-walkers a favor.
The point is, I need a lot of sleep. Eight hours a night at least. Maybe seven. Anything less than that, and I will either throw my alarm clock across the room and go right back to bed until my body has decided it’s had its fill, or I will grudgingly get up (in the most protracted fashion possible, of course) and put on a big old pair of cranky-pants. As of this moment, the most sleep I could hope to get before class tops out at about ninety minutes. Maybe one-hundred and twenty, if I decide to forgo both breakfast and any hope for a leisurely “getting ready” pace. The cranky-pants this amount of sleep will force me to don are enormous. These are cranky-parachute-pants.
And man, that’s not how I want to start this summer. I want to breeze into that classroom, fresh and alert and prepared. I want to absorb every tiny speck of information. I want to get up on that little stage and deliver a song that’s polished and connected.
Instead, I will fall asleep not long after posting this, wake up when my alarm goes off at 7:00, trip over my laundry basket crossing the room to turn it off, convince myself that I can fall into bed for another ten minutes, wake up again — this time in a panic — at 8:20, throw myself into the shower, attempt to slap on clothes and makeup all in one clumsy motion, throw a bunch of stuff into a bag (none of it being the stuff I actually need for the day), tear out the door without eating breakfast or packing myself a lunch or remembering to print out my music or take my Claritin, possibly have a brief, hysterical crying spell in the car, land in my seat at class with thirty seconds to spare, and spend the rest of the day alternately nodding off and hating Sanford Meisner.
I am nothing if not consistent.