Honestly, I have no idea if I’m supposed to capitalize kryptonite. It just looks more threatening as Kryptonite, doesn’t it? And if I go off Googling the proper spelling and capitalization procedures for superhero anti-superpower substances, I’ll just wind up watching episodes clips of Wonder Woman while wondering why she isn’t getting a movie this summer like Thor and Captain America.*
So Kryptonite it is, then. I have come to a mature understanding that sleep is air to me, it is a bedrock condition of optimal Tara-atic functioning that cannot be messed with. We’re talking 8 hours minimum, people, and 9 is not excessive. On a weekend, 10 hours is entirely expected. I will never be one of those noble, long-suffering “oh, I just need 4 or 5 hours” types.
Ah, the sleep, the beautiful, beautiful sleep. With it, I have boundless superpowers, and no, not all of them involve talking. I can also read the minds of little boys, find misplaced objects I’ve never actually seen, and create fabulous dinners for five from ketchup, tortillas and pickle juice. (OK, that’s just a lie right there, but it would be funny. And I think my kids might eat it.)
If I am well-rested, I am ridiculously productive. Oh, my powers are great on such a day, indeed, and the Perky I can wield, the Very Perky Perkiness is a thing of wonder. But woe
is am me I done is on a day like today, when various factors have conspired to deprive me of my sleep and sap me of my powers of Perky and All Things Pleasant. (Various factors = American Idol AFTER Bible study + kids up too early + husband ignores alarm + neighbors work crew hammering far too early.)
Sleep-deprived, I am slow of speech, hesitant to even name to those mysterious small loud people in my house in case I am wrong, mad at all of everyone, and just ….dumb. I spent several hours today just absolutely baffled as to why I was so mad all day, really at a loss to explain my irritability. Until I remembered, oh, yeah, I’m really tired.
That’s when I need to avoid my bed at all costs, avoid even the bedroom. Cause I’m here to say, dear blog readers, it talks to me. It’s true. My Bed Talks to Me. I probably shouldn’t admit it, especially when we don’t know each other all that well yet, but it’s true. Even on a good day, I’ll just be strolling by, on my way to do laundry, or find earrings, or what have you, and it whispers… “Tara, Tara, look at me, aren’t I cozy? Aren’t I pretty? Don’t I look….soft?”
But on a day like today when I am staggering around, trying just to stay vertical, oh, it calls to me. That shameless bed will call to me, “Tara, come here, just lay down for a minute, just a minute, you can get back up any time you want.” It knows I’m weak, that my personal Kryptonite of exhaustion has pummeled me, weakened me, and at moments like that the bed seems to make sense. “Well, yes,” I think, “I bet I could make dinner lying down in bed. Let’s see, I wonder if we have any pickle juice?”
Think I’ve already over shared on the bed issue? Cause I got more to say. I am actually wondering where the line is for creating an idol. ‘Cause that bed, with the fluffy down comforter and the high-thread-count sheets and the feather pillows, the memory foam topper, oh my the Memory Foam, It Is So Great. And then came Christmas, and the heated mattress pad.
You want to know what makes you feel REALLY old? When your favorite Christmas gift is a heated mattress pad. I didn’t even know I wanted one, but that’s what my mom got my husband and I for Christmas this year, and it is a wonderful thing. So wonderful, I fear it may have taken my bed and I across some theological line, and all the while I think I’m trying to walk the life of a faithful modern Christian woman, my bed is whispering to me, pulling me in with sweet nothings about preheated glorious comfort and blissful sleep, oh blissful sleep. Is it my golden calf, am I an idol worshiper, or can I cleverly use its powers for good, recharge and strengthen myself for yet another day?
Me, I’m definitely going to try to get a good night’s sleep tonight. How about you? What’s your Kryptonite?
*I couldn’t resist the Googling. I found references to red Kryptonite, which had nearly opposite effect on Superman; and a terrifying article on how too much sleep may kill you. I’m definitely going to bed. Right after I watch American Idol.