So apparently that whole "lack of sleep turns you into an asshat" thing wasn't just a myth, an urban legand, a scary story parents told their ill-behaved children so that they would finally fall asleep at 8pm -- just in time for the parents to settle down in front of a screen with their half-frozen mashed potatoes and watch a situation comedy and not talk. In other words, sleep seems to be important. Nine out of ten doctors would recommend sleep. Who is this lone doc who pooh-poohs the naturally recurring state characterized by altered consciousness? A fool, that's who. A fool with a PhD and bad handwriting and even badder advice. Badder is a word? It is? I mean, I know baddest is a word because it's printed on a bumper sticker on my car: "Baddest Bitch in the 'hood!" Don't drive while drowsy, by the way. That's bad.
I've been drowsy since the day I was born. That is entirely false. In fact, I was a little Mexican jumping bean as a child, although I was clearly not Hispanic. I was, and still am, as white as they come. And they come pretty white these days! Just look at Taylor Swift. I cannot for the life of me imagine a whiter girl than she. Except for me. Shake it off or whatever. My song would be "Sleep It Off" and it would be a lullaby and it would work. It would put everyone with insomnia to sleep for 100 years until a charming prince/princess came along and exclaimed, "For the love of bad bitches everywhere, wake up! Have you not heard your phone alarm going off for the past 36,524 days?! Well, everyone else in the kingdom has. And by the way, you've missed a lot of stuff while you were off in dreamworld. I don't want to tell you too much, but let's just say Florida no longer exists and humans now have lizard tongues."
From the freakout I had earlier about who knows what to the meltdown I had just now over I have no idea, it's time to realize that all of the signs point to GET MORE SLEEP. I know, I know. Now to make an effort to get that vital shut-eye. But I don't have the energy to make an effort! This is half of a joke, folks. Which, if you are even slightly competent in math, means that I am half serious. Half joke plus half non-joke equals a whole... a whole lotta something. A whole lotta yadda yadda yadda. Whole. Complete. One. One of these days I'll learn that naps exist for a reason. In the meantime, I will probably continue to be a yawning asshat with good intentions and bat bitch bumper stickers and dreams of being an Anglo-Saxon jumping bean once again.