Do you know the feeling? You
go to bed at midnight, tired and happy that you made it through another day
without messing up the world too badly, only to wake up two hours later,
knowing fair well, that you are toast.
Nevertheless you go ahead and try to relax (because you know that’s
your best bet): you focus on thinking soporific thoughts (does Rachel love
Ross after all?), you imagine squirrels asleep in their nest, you feel your
limbs seemingly getting heavier and you busily blot out anything that
might make your heart rate speed up (chocolate consumption or account levels, software issues,
lost stuff, and probably a large range of friends&family stuff as well) – until
there is no way around accepting the fact that your bladder has slowly but
surely been filling up and is now full to the rim so that you actually will
have to get up.
Lavishly cursing your lot, you get up and make your way down an underheated
hallway and plop down on a chilly toilet seat with a sigh.
But sometimes, I have found, that that is actually a good thing to
do. Getting up. It’s like a reboot. Because when I eventually get back to bed, I
actually want to be there to warm up my feet and give my wobbly circulation a
break.
In fact it is much harder to go back to sleep at 5am. But recently I didn’t have much need for that.
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