Sleep and I are finally reunited. It's been a week now, and I can't keep my hands off it. I don't know how I could live without it so long, because it's the only thing I'm interested in right now. I wake up in the morning (in the morning! not 'several times at night'!) and I think of joining it again the following night. I go to bed in the evening, and I marvel at the softness of my sheets.
Yes, everything's better now and my sheets are softer. Sleep is magical like that.
So after a week of newly found bliss, I think we're good. We might even be in it for the long run.
Except sometimes, I wonder whether our relationship is healthy. I mean sometimes, it feels like if I'm doing anything else that is remotely boring, like, say, working, sleep will be the only thing I think of. That's a bit excessive, isn't it? Shouldn't I be thinking of chocolate every now and again?
And yesterday, I was watching 'The Meaning of Life', which, even though John Cleese hated it, is my favourite Python movie, and guess what. I fell asleep. Right in the middle of it. On my couch. Before M. Creosote's segment. And I even turned the volume down at some point during my sleep.
So now I'm a bit scared. Will I have to turn my whole life around to accommodate it? Will I have to give up everything that I care about because it cannot stand to not be the only one in my life? What if I don't and it leaves? Oh god. I'm going back to bed now.