October 21st, 2009 by Kateastrophe

You know that feeling where you’re so tired you feel all woozy and as though you woke up in a vat of Jell-O (in my case it’s always the green kind, in case you’re wondering.  You can take the girl outa Utah but you can’t take Utah outa the girl)?

Yeah, today I have that feeling combined with a big dose of what I think it would feel like to have your feet run over by a bus *while* you are being beaten with a metal pole.

Woozy Jell-O + Bus Accident + Metal Pole = Party in the USA (noddin’ my head like yeah . . . movin’ my hips like . . . wait.  I hate that song).

“Why dost thou feel this way fair Kate” I know you are all asking.  In Ye Olde English, of course.  Because in my head we all talk that way when we’re tired.  It’s sort of like Kenneth seeing the world as Muppets in 30 Rock.  And even if you’re not asking I’m going to tell you.

{Que explanatory tangent}

About a decade ago when I was in college, I could survive on about four seconds of sleep.  I could stay up all night “studying” with a cute boy, fall into bed for a short couple hour nap and be rearing and ready to go for ballet at 7 AM. Now that I’m all old, I look back on those days with a jealous rage.  I currently need about nine hours of sleep to operate as a human.  NINE.  I love sleeping more than anything except a good macaroni and cheese.  My bed and I are best friends.

{End explanatory tangent}

So I started my new job exactly two weeks ago.  Before that I was unemployed for thirty days and before that for the last several months I traipsed into work around nine-ish and traipsed to an hour and a half-ish lunch at about noon-ish and traipsed back home around four-thirty-ish.  Needless to say there was not a lot to do in the final days of our doomed company.  Ish.  The new job is 8-5.  I have a few minutes leeway here and there, but I really do need to be there by 8.  I have a 45 minute commute which means I have to leave my house at 7:15 which means (as I’ve mentioned before) I have to get up at 6:00 AM.  OHMYGOSH I HATE SIX AM.  I TRULY WANT IT TO DIE A HORRIBLE, PAINFUL DEATH.   Obviously I’m not a morning person which means I’m a night person.  Which means going to bed before 11 PM isn’t really my thing.  Needless to say my sanity requirement of nine hours of sleep is far from being met.  I’m running on about a 20 hour deficit in sleeping hours so far.

All of that is problem #1.

Problem #2 is limited to just this week, but it has been a big old problem.  Matt’s best friend came to town for the U2 concert on Monday night.  We stayed up talking until almost 1 AM.  I still had to get up at 6 AM.  You do the math.  I’ll wait . . . YEAH.  That’s five hours of sleep.

Then the U2 concert was last night.  It was amazing.  AMAZING.  I’ve never seen them live and I’m adding them to the list of my top concerts ever – which is hard to do because I’ve seen some amazing concerts.  If you get the chance, pay the ridiculous amount of money and go.  You won’t regret it.  Unless it’s on a weeknight.  And you’re a person who needs nine hours of sleep.  And you got home at almost 1:30.  AND HAD TO GET UP AT SIX.  In that case you’ll regret it just a little only because you’re using duct tape to hold your eyes open and a ruler taped to your chest and your chin to keep your head up.