The Body's Need for Eight Hours of Sleep is Not a Myth

I sat in front of the keyboard for an hour tonight. Swing and a miss. My body feels alien from lack of sleep. Like it's not even mine. Like I'm renting a cheap suit that doesn't quite fit. Or the tailor got halfway through and gave up. Or I hit a growth spurt in selective areas of my body and now the proportions are all out of whack.

Either way, I had two bowls of cereal instead. Also, I cleaned the house. Marvelous how distractions can make the most miserable tasks appealing. I wanted to not write so much that I folded laundry. As I went to knock out the dishes, it dawned on me that nothing is more miserable than doing dishes and went back to writing instead.

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