Why Do I Have to Sleep, Again?

I hate sleep.

I nev­er feel good about sleep­ing. I can nev­er shake the feel­ing that, if I did­n’t have to capit­u­late to this par­tic­u­lar weak­ness of my vile body, there is so much I could be get­ting done. But I am — inescapably, habit­u­al­ly — exhaust­ed, and so, I am told, must there­fore sleep. This seems a rot­ten way to run a rail­road, and so I spit upon it. I spit on sleep.

Of course, I will still do it: I have to. But I sure as Frith don’t have to like it. 


  1. Being a morn­ing per­son I tend to think of sleep as req­ui­site pre­cur­sor. This mind­set has allowed me to achieve a deal of peace with what it oth­er­wise a bur­den­some bod­i­ly necessity.

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