This is what well-rested feels like?

I just thought I'd mention to the world that I slept for thirteen hours last night, minus a groggy journey downstairs to give the animals breakfast, and insulin as applicable.

The past three mornings, I've had early things to do: take Hans to the airport Thursday, take Grandma to the doctor Friday, take my ass to the KC Improv Festival (why am I not abbreviating this? I don't have any non-improv readers... do I?) planning meeting Saturday. Each night-before, I swore I was going to get to bed early, maybe even earlier than early-for-me, which is 1am. Each night, it didn't happen.

It is clinically impossible for me to sleep before midnight, unless I'm running on several days of four hours asleep, twenty awake. Even if I physically go to bed and close my eyes, I can't do it. I lay there for an hour or so, checking the clock every so often to see if it's morning yet. Then I get up and read or play a game or write something, because trying to sleep has become a waste of time. I've been like this my whole life: I even lost credit from a couple of high school classes for excessive absences in first hour.

Occasionally I have the foresight to pop a couple Tylenol PM the night before something early. I wake up feeling pretty good, but they make me sleep for about ten hours, so I really have to plan ahead. I can't use it at midnight when I realize I should have gone to bed an hour ago.

So, last night I was supposed to babysit, but Kara (the mom) wasn't feeling well, so she didn't go out. I stayed to play with Ronin till she was tired enough to go to bed, so Kara could rest, and I was home a little past ten. Too late to catch the Imp show, and I didn't want to use the gas anyway, after all the trips to KC this week. And I was like, "Sweet, I'm gonna finish that Colette book tonight, and another Packrat collection," but the last time I remember on the clock was 11:24. And then, minus aforementioned animal feeding, it was Sunday afternoon.