If you didn’t need sleep, what would you do with all the extra time?

---

I had to laugh when I read this question.
Asking an insomniac what they would do if they didn’t need sleep is cute.

I haven’t slept since the first Bush.
Bush 2 didn’t exactly improve the situation.

Hmm… what day is it?
Oh, it’s Sunday? Why didn’t you say so.
Hold on, let me pull out my calendar and see what’s on the agenda.

Yeah… I’m booked solid. I’ve only got a few minutes.

People always think if they didn’t need sleep, they’d finally get their life together.
Write more. Read more. Exercise. Clean the garage. Become the person they keep talking about.

That’s not how it works.

Extra hours don’t fix anything.
They just leave you sitting there… awake longer.

Your eyes burn, you yawn nonstop, and you forget what you were doing while you’re still doing it.
Then you pass out… and miss the appointment you waited six months to get.

You get drowsy and start talking to someone who isn’t there.
She’s gorgeous, of course. Nobody hallucinates about ugly people.
I think they call that a nightmare… only you’re still awake for it.

Guppy comes over whining about something, like she’s worn out from a full day of naps.
She gets more sleep than I do.
The second I lay down, she climbs on me and goes to sleep like she’s been waiting for it all day.
She’s snoring in no time.
I’m still laying there staring at the ceiling, fully awake, questioning every decision I’ve ever made.

No-Doz, Five Hour Energy, all those miracle fixes just make you pee.
After a while the color starts changing too.
That’s not something you want to be thinking about in the wee hours of the morning.

I fill notebooks with fragmented ideas that never get finished.
But the second I actually need a blank page, I sit there staring at it like it’s supposed to magically start speaking to me.
It never does. It just sits there… judging me.

I wouldn’t have an excuse anymore.
Just me, a grumpy cat, and a coffee grinder that sounds like it’s about to die.

I even thought about yoga once, but I couldn’t get past “Downward Dog.”
Tight leggings and weird poses don’t fit my dude wheel.

And I know exactly how that would end.

Not with a finished novel.
Not with a clean garage.
Not with some perfectly organized life.

It would end the same way it always does…

…waking up with drool stuck to a notebook page, coffee stains everywhere, and a cigarette burning in the ashtray like it refuses to enable your insomnia.