The Sixteen-Hour Saga

What you are about to hear is no easy tale to tell. It was an epic journey, the duration of which lasted sixteen hours. Sixteen whole hours. (Approximately. I'm not really sure precisely when it started. So, sixteen hours, give or take.)

[Are you all scared yet? We know my habit of taking three-minute interactions and turning them into fifty-page dissertations. What ever shall I do with sixteen hours of fodder for this entry?!]

Let us start with a common understanding of reality. There are five things one can do while a college student:
1) Go to class.
2) Go to work.
3) Do work.
4) Watch Law & Order.
5) Sleep.

And the most sacred of these five things is the last: Sleep. When we aren't sleeping, we're thinking about sleep. When we are sleeping, we're wondering when we'll next be able to sleep. When we're working, we're hurrying to finish so we can sleep. And when we're at work, we're wishing our parents were rich so we could be at home sleeping. (No one touches Law & Order. It was a close second for "most sacred activity," barely being beat out by "sleep." When we're watching Law & Order, we are not thinking about sleep. (Unless it's Law & Order: CI, in which case we're probably almost asleep already.))

This week was a bad week for sleep. I averaged four hours of sleep per twenty-four period, but that in no way means that those four hours were consecutive. I pulled my first all-nighter of the semester, which was also a first in its implementation of caffeine pills. At the same time that I realized that the caffeine pills were worth every cent, I also recognized that my roommate would be quick to steal them to prevent my fulfilling my plan to have a heart attack before graduating.

(I feel the need to digress for a moment. Most of you knew of my plan to suffer a fatal myocardial infarction by the age of twenty, and you also know that my plan obviously failed. In an attempt to keep up my spirits and sense of optimism, I have moved the deadline back to graduation, which gives me until May to induce my own death through the use of stress, American cuisine, and caffeine.)

Back on track, we can all agree that the most sacred use of a college student's time is to sleep, right? Alright. With that in mind, when do college students most like to sleep? Why, Saturday morning of course. Not only are they sleeping off their hangovers from Friday night, but they're also resting up for one more night of partying before cramming all of their homework into a one-hour session on Sunday afternoon.

Last night, Friday night, Minison and I had a roommate bonding experience. We got lost on the way to Applebee's due to the damn traveling construction that can't just afflict one exit ramp but has to keep moving further down the freeway. Then we watched Law & Order: SVU, and finally we watched Rumor Has It. By the time we were done thoroughly wasting our Friday night (also a ritual sacred enough to make the list), it was midnight.

What did this signal? Well, it was now officially Saturday morning. And what do we do on Saturday morning, kids? That's right! We sleep!

So I went to bed. At midnight. And it was beautiful. I read a few pages of Titanic by Christopher Durang and then I was out. (Incidentally, if you're looking for some light reading with great potential to stimulate valuable intellectual debate, read some of Christopher Durang's plays. They're hilarious and yet raise important questions.)

Guess how long I slept. Just guess. I dare ya. I dare ya. Come on. Guess. . . . Chicken! Just guess!

Nope. That's wrong.

Wanna guess again? Wanna guess? Huh? Huh!?

Fine. Don't. I see how it is.

I suppose I'll just go ahead and tell you if you won't be a good sport and play along. Loser.

I slept sixteen hours. Sixteen whole hours. (Approximately.)

I went to bed at midnight and I woke up at noon. Only I didn't know it was noon until I got out of bed. (Shut up. I can add and subtract. I know that midnight to noon is only twelve hours. So just shut up and keep reading before you start throwing a hissy fit. Know-it-all.) I got up, brushed my teeth, finished the Durang play, and gleefully went back to sleep.

It was beautiful. It was the epitome of rightness. The world was in balance, everything right where it belongs. I was asleep and I was having the best sleep: not only was it Saturday, but it was also that sleep where you wake up for just long enough that when you go back to sleep, you sleep more peacefully than you ever imagined possible.

So then, guess how much longer I slept. Guess. You know you wanna. Oh, for caffeine's sake, just guess!

Can you subtract? Because if so, this should be really damn easy. What's the title of the post? So how many hours do you think I slept total? Sixteen hours. Very good. Now, how many hours did I sleep before waking the first time? If you don't know, just scroll back up a little bit. That's right: twelve hours. Now what is sixteen minus twelve? That's correct, dipshit; it's four! Good work!

So I woke up at four, right as Mini was jumping out of bed, or so the sound led me to believe. And I woke up in a good mood. I mean, a good mood. Why, you ask? Because I slept sixteen hours. Sixteen whole hours. (Approximately.) As the ever-wise fourteen-year-old would put it, "Like, duh!"

Saturday morning as it was meant to be used. (And afternoon, I suppose.) It was a glorious day. I highly recommend your emulating it.