Cruel Intentions

I've decided that I'm not nearly as strong as I think I am. When I think I can bust out a 12-hour workday, I live to regret such thinking. I've been under the impression that long workdays aren't hard on me. It's the coming home at 10:30, being wound up, and still utterly exhausted that's hard on me. It's knowing that I need to get some sleep, or I will hate myself tomorrow. It's forcing myself under the covers past midnight, quickly calculating my alarm will be going off in less than four hours, and then fearing I will oversleep that all lead to a very disturbing night's rest. There are lies that I tell my body in the morning just so it sits up. I promise to come home and get in bed early, with the addition of a Bendryl or something equally relaxing. I even let my brain envision the peaceful, solid rest for a few seconds. I plead with my body to move. Somehow, I know that my promises are only good intentions.

It's too bad that our bodies don't come equipped with sensory levels telling us when we need sleep. You could just look at the level indicator and think, "I have two more hours of energy, and then, then I must sleep...or die."