It's fascinating what losing one hour of sleep will do to a person on a Monday morning. Partly, I think it's just the indignation that makes us so tetchy. My personal sleep schedule fluctuates so wildly that I lose up to two hours per night, depending on what random Netflix series I decide to binge on next (this month: Call the Midwife.) And frankly, as someone who rolls out of bed by 5:30 AM, you'd think I'd be used to not seeing the sun until after I leave work at the end of the day.
Nope.
Around this time every year... this, dear readers, is exactly how I feel:
I confess to actually really disliking the horror genre, zombie films in particular. First and foremost, we live in a world where people murder each other for the clothes off their back, the gods they believe in, and the gender of the people they feel like getting in the sack with. Why do we feel the need to create any other horrors to distract us?
...Don't answer that.
Second, if we're talking Romero zombies - it is just biologically stupid. Unbelievably stupid. And yet - the idea makes my skin crawl. Particularly, if we're talking something like 28 Days or Reavers from Firely... Welp. Let's just say, in the infinitesimally small chance that we are unlucky enough to fall prey to a zombie apocalypse, my strategy is to exit stage left, in the most final sense.
But the feeling of undead-ness so well applied to me this morning as I hit the snooze on my phone thrice, and then still took the time to set my alarm for another half hour.
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| REM. REEEEEEMMMMMMMMM!!! |
And now to thoroughly ensure that I cannot fall asleep tonight:
Until the next.
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