Thing The Great Big Man in the Sky Screwed Up When He Made Me #1127: Out of the seven nights a week, I probably stay up for the duration of at least one of them. Why? I’m so naive. If you let me watch a single scary movie– it could be a Disney Channel Halloween special, I guarantee that I will not sleep that night. It doesn’t even have to be scary. It can be Casper the Friendly Ghost. I could be feeling absolutely fabulous right up until my head hits the pillow. Then I think about Casper, AND EVERY SINGLE SCARY STORY CRASHES DOWN ON ME. (Then I spend the night blogging about it.) I keep telling myself “omg Sabrina they’re fake” but even knowing they’re fake doesn’t help. Even if Jensen Ackles and Jared Padalecki and whoever played the Woman in White in the pilot ep of Supernatural were standing in my room, carrying a notarized document stating that the scary stories are not true, I wouldn’t be able to sleep. Actually, I would probably kick anyone who isn’t Jensen Ackles out and proceed to make sure he isn’t Dean Winchester.
It’s like my brain is a toddler. And myself is the mom. And sleep is the broccoli that I’m trying to force down the kid’s throat, and the
kid brain kid/brain is doing everything it can to stop it. That includes thinking about the Vashta Nerada, Slenderman, and Samara from The Ring. FUCK YOU BRAIN.
And the worst part is, I can’t like, get up and do something about it. I’ve mentioned my mum a lot in here. She has a strict policy on “bedtimes” and such. Below are The Commandments:
1. Thou shalt go to bed when Mum-Queen decides for you to do so, whether it be six pm or three am.
2. Thou shalt stay in thine’s bed until morning, AKA seven am.
3. Thou shalt not read, write, draw, play Doodle Jump, practice flute, Facebook, blog, text, watch television, or eat during designated sleep hours.
4. If thou turns on the hall light then you shall be incinerated by His Holy Lightning Shooting Nipples.
So like, if I can’t sleep, then she doesn’t just wave her hand flippantly and say “eh, don’t make much noise pls.” NO. Like, if I go to the bathroom one too many times, the woman is up the stairs, pounding on the door, like “GO TO BED, YOU LITTLE BITCHLET.” And if I’m in bed with the light on, reading, she comes up like “Why are you still up, hmm?”
Me: “Because I can’t sleep.”
Mum: “You NEED to.”
Me: *is Sheldon* “If I could, I would. But I can’t, so I shan’t.”
Mum: “THAT’S NOT MY PROBLEM. You need to sit in the dark and play a game called Stareattheceilinguntil
Mum: “Then I must challenge you to… A POKEMON BATTLE!”
Me: “the fuck”
Yeaaaup. That’s usually how it goes.
Sleep is for noobs, yo.