If I could communicate my love for sleep, and if I were a hilarious and witty writer, and if I could time travel back to 2009...I would have written this article. This woman gets me. Simply put, I love sleeping. I never feel like it's a waste of time, and I often feel guilty if I sleep in on a Saturday in the springtime when it's gorgeous outside. I've shared a link to the full article, but below are some of the highlights that I couldn't agree more with:
"I have a problem. No, scratch that. It’s not a problem. I do not have a problem. I'm fine. It’s more of a passion, an obsession; some might even argue it’s a talent. For sleeping. Late. And I mean really, really, really late.
If left to my own devices―with all the phone ringers turned off, the doors and windows shut, and the doorbell intercom turned down―I can sleep until one, two, or three in the afternoon and often for stretches of 12 to 15 hours. I will do basically anything to be able to sleep late: lie, cheat, manipulate social plans and travel itineraries. I go through life the way I imagine a smoker in a nonsmoking world does: I’m constantly thinking about the next time I will be able to get my fix...."
She goes on to talk about how she isn't depressed and how she is ambitious and motivated - even "hyper-awake" during normal business hours. I can totally, 100% relate to this next part.
"But in the morning, lying in bed when the alarm goes off, I have no ambitions, no desires, no real reason to live. I am filled with hate and loathing, and the only thing I want is to sleep forever.
Over the years, my sleeping habits never changed, but my awareness of a stigma deepened, and I’m ashamed to admit I started lying to cover it up. For instance, if someone suggested meeting for brunch at 10 or 11 on a weekend, I might say, “Oh, I have to run a bunch of errands beforehand, could we make it later...much later?”
But I soon realized that by covering up my penchant for sleeping late, I was perpetuating the prejudice my people have had to endure for centuries. So these days when someone calls and wakes me up from a deep sleep, I don’t feign a wide-awake “Hello?” I’ve never understood that. Why should the person who has been awakened―victimized, really―assume responsibility? Instead, I answer the phone like this: “Hulllmph...?” dripping with as much outrage as can be conveyed in a single grunt. Invariably, the caller has the audacity to ask, innocently, “Oh, did I wake you?” To that I grunt back, “Yeah! You did!” and hang up. Because if I don’t teach these people, who will?"
....my sentiments exactly.