I once read that the most successful people in western society are early risers who sleep about 5 or 6 hours a night. Surgeons, diplomats, and CEOs of Fortune 500 companies typically start their day at 5:00 a.m. with a brisk workout followed by a sensible, healthy breakfast and a productive schedule culminating in 5 hours of uninterrupted sleep. That's what these overachievers consider a good day. "You can sleep when you're dead!," they exclaim self-righteously.
Well, I'd rather be dead than awake for even one second longer than I have to be. Night or day, rain or shine: there's literally nothing I'd rather do than lie in the dark on a Tempurpedic mattress in my -30 Arctic sleeping bag and plunge into the black void of unconsciousness. A good day for Warren Buffet is probably trading a zillion dollars in stock options while simultaneously walking on the elliptical at 6:15 a.m. A good day for me is when my tits don't see the inside of a bra. And a great day is when I don't leave my bedroom at all except to get a pint of ice cream from the freezer and eat it in bed while surfing the interwebs between naps.
Sometimes I feel a nagging worry that this makes me lazy, that life is passing me by, or that someone from Hollywood might try to cast me in a remake of "Valley of the Dolls." But honestly, the crucible of my daily existence feels so demanding that being unconscious seems like the best possible use of whatever limited time remains. I know, I know. If my five major food groups weren't coffee, Nutella, Cheetos, popcorn, and Diet Dr. Pepper I'd probably have more energy. The problem is that most days, I'd rather be in a Nutella-induced coma than eating dehydrated kale on top of a mountain.
Though I must admit: when I DO manage to make myself eat dehydrated kale on top of a mountain, I feel pretty smug and self-satisfied. And as we we all know, that's a damn good feeling too.