Growing up I had a complicated relationship with sleep.
And by complicated I mean that I hated to go to sleep but when I finally did, I hated waking up even more. You see, complicated.
When I was 5 my parents took it upon themselves to lock me in my room at night. They literally took the door knob off and reinstalled it backwards to stop me from wandering about the house in the middle of the night. Before you alert the authorities for child abuse, they really had the best of intentions. Turns out I’m still a danger to myself.
At some age when wearing nightgowns with cartoons on them is still socially acceptable I decided to clean my room instead of heeding my parents instructions of going to sleep.
Can you imagine?
A child who would rather clean their room than go to bed.
I was a modern miracle in the late 80’s.
That little adventure didn’t bode well for me however because I would end up tripping on the cord of my Lite Brite (AMAZON LINK) (remember those?) and needing a number of stitches on the right side of my chin. I have to specify the right side of my chin because the scar on the left side is from trying to jump off a flatbed trailer by myself and hooking my face on a post.
You can see now why my parents put me in dance classes.
This sleep issue only worsened in middle and high school. I had a radio alarm like everyone else but it served as more of a soundtrack to my dreams than it ever did as a tool to wake me up.
My mom doubled as my personal attendant. On the occasions where she didn’t strip me and put me in the shower herself I would close the door, turn on the shower and use all of the towels in the linen closet to construct a cozy sleeping pallet on the floor of the bathroom until someone pounded on the door and asked if I planned on leaving any water for the fish. Eventually I would actually shower but only if you consider showering to be laying in the tub, closing your eyes and hoping hot water is enough of a cleaning agent.
When I finally did get out of the shower my mom would’ve already picked out my clothes because I couldn’t be bothered to even open my eyes. Then she would style my hair while I ate breakfast or run the risk of me leaving the house unbrushed bringing shame and embarrassment to the family.
This went on until I went to college. It’s a wonder I’m able to dress myself.
I’m better now. I can actually do mornings. I would almost venture to say I enjoy them.
But unfortunately it seems that the age-associated aversion to sleeping and waking is hereditary. Take a gander at Rinn here, when I found him taking a post-shower siesta on the bathroom floor!
Shortly after I found myself brushing his hair while he ate his waffles wearing clothes that I had laid out for him.
Karma is a cruel mistress.
And in case you were wondering, they still make Lite Brites.
*Adds to Amazon cart
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(or at the very least find comical.)