Sleep Is Like War

Sleep is like war. Many mornings the alarm goes off, signaling that it is over. I’ve won. We’ve done our duty, and now it is time to better the world through conscientious good deeds. But there are also many mornings that are like Desert Storm II. The alarm signals that major operations are over, but in actuality there is much fighting still to go. You can dream all you want in your flight suit, on your boat, about being victorious, but the hard part has just begun. Alarms go off every ten minutes (senate committee hearings), but they mean nothing. Sunlight might be streaming into the room (accusations flying in the liberal media), but that just buries you deeper in the bed sheets. At some point you will be forced to open your eyes; you know this. Your fickle dreams nag at you to stop wasting time. You could have been doing your conscientious good deeds by now. But the struggle’s been going on so long now it has gained a sense of nobility to it. You can’t give up! You raise the funds, go on the attack, slinging mud, elevate threat levels, appoint conservative judges, and roll back environmental laws. Waking up now means that you have some kind of weakness in your fundamental character. And suddenly, without realizing it, you’ve worked yourself up so much you are awake. The sheets twisted around your curled up body. Your bladder is pounding. Your jaw slack, the pillow is covered with salivate. You know you’ve lost and now you must face the day.