Is there any more miserable feeling than finding yourself unable to keep your eyes open, at a time when you must keep 'em open? Church. School. Work. Meetings. We all find ourselves in such situations. It's terrible. You catch your head nodding, and jerk it up, feeling your brain thump on the inside of your skull and sinuses compress a little. If you were really gone, maybe you sling that thread of drool hanging from your mouth onto your neighbor's desk or the blue-haired back of the head the lady in the pew in front of you.
Embarrassing, yes. But mainly, just purely MISERABLE. Sleep deprivation is a tried and true torture technique that has been used for... well, centuries, at least. Probably millenia. I would sing like a canary if it would Make The Bad Men Stop and let me get that sleep.
As a night worker, I'm always a little tired. I never get my rhythm down, and feel like I'm just a little shy of sleep. Sit me in an idling car on the side of the road at 3:00 AM with no traffic and a little minus on sleep with no calls to go to, and I'm... I'm in trouble. I have too much integrity to abandon the fight against sleep. Hey-- the least I can do is remain awake while at work. But it's soooo hard when the whole city's been eyeballed, there's no one around, and the radio is quiet.
The good times radio is generally spewing crap at night. Let's see: Top 40 pop that I mostly don't understand or can't stomach, Nashville Country Top 40, Urban Contemporary/HipHop/Gangsta Rap that I mostly don't understand or can't stomach, Tejano/Conjunto that I mostly don't understand or can't stomach (if I never hear another jaunty-paced accordian again...), BBC World Service, Talk Radio Sports, Talk Radio Ultra Conservative, and Art Bell. I usually either leave it off or turn it to the BBC.
Which will put your butt to sleep faster than a Lunesta cocktail with an Ambien chaser.
Nothing like some British broad with a north London or Lakes District accent murmuring on about the relative worth of the pound sterling against the dollar in foreign markets. . . .
I'm sorry. What were we talking about?
Coffee. I'm going to make some coffee. Brought up some decent fresh ground French roast last night. That's the ticket. . .