I generally work ten-hour days at my job. I also generally wake up without an alarm, usually around 900 or 1000. If I manage to keep myself honest during the week it almost guarantees me one of the holiest of things: a three day weekend. And this is something that I can do; well... as long as I don't have plans with anyone during the week. At all.
In short, I want the best of everything. I want to do things after work, and I want my 3 day weekend. Now, as much as I love sleeping 'til whenever, it's the only thing in the equation that can slip. As a result, I'm putting myself on a strict 630 alarm. No snoozing. Those who know me will tell you this is not a small matter. I love my sleep.
Back to now. I'm three days in and not having a fun time. Day one was doable. Day two I was tired-ish, but not too bad. Day three, well... This morning I used my greatest strength to roll out of bed. Dazed, I wandered around, put myself through a few pull-ups (they were way harder than usual), then paced like a caged tiger around my bed. Sleep was like a delicious, juicy steak, and me... I was hungry. I beat it, by way of another miracle of willpower, but today was awful. I was tired, brain was dead, stomach was achy, muscles sore, head... pressured.
The day was... a struggle. This, of course, had to happen, before I would wise up and start going to bed earlier. So tonight, I come straight home from work, heat up some leftover chicken, onion and bell peppers in peanut sauce, fried up my very first plantain. Now I'm having a little tequila sunrise and watching The Uninvited. When the move is over, it's time for me to force myself into a little bedtime, before 10pm possibly?
Man, do I feel old right now...
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