Bedtime: But First ...
My eyes don't exactly pop open in the morning. It's more like one kind of opens and the other tries to but it's sorta stuck shut and my eyeballs roll around trying to focus and then I just say "screw it" and close them for like five extra minutes.*
*Or, you know, fifteen.
I swear I wouldn't be so tired if I would actually go to bed at the exact moment I intend to. But my "intended bedtime" is perpetually much, MUCH earlier than my actual bedtime. Because I just can't keep myself from doing a bunch of extra stuff on the way there.
So I decided to be proactive and do something about it.
...Like write a poem. (Related poem/explanation of my insane tiredness: Stay the F**k in Your Own Bed)
I'm gonna go to bed, she thought.
It's getting pretty late.
But first I'll run the dishwasher.
She started loading plates.
Once that was done she made her way
To her bedroom down the hall;
But then she was distracted
By some crayon marks on the wall.
I'll clean this up real quick, she thought
And went to get a sponge;
But then, stray socks diverted her
From cleaning up the grunge.
I need to get these in the wash.
She carried them downstairs;
And while I'm here, she told herself,
I'll sort the rest in pairs.
And while she sorted little socks,
She spied a paperclip;
It reminded her she hadn't signed
Her son's permission slip.
She went to get his backpack
And there she found a note:
"Food drive for the homeless -
please donate!" the teacher wrote.
So she headed to the pantry
To fetch a can for that
Which then made her remember
She forgot to feed the cat.
Once she finished all her stuff
And got the kitty fed:
Seriously, she thought, for real -
I've got to get to bed.
Finally she settled in -
And then she heard the tone:
The enticing, urgent sound ...
... Of Facebook on her phone.
And then she checked her email and tomorrow's forecast and kept nodding off and finally dropped the phone on her face the end.
That's how it'd work out for me, anyway.