A Sleepy Harangue

Sleep. That beautiful activity in our everyday lives. Nowadays barely ekeing out six hours a day. Relegated to the background by work and stress. Deprivation manifested by dark circles, irritable behaviour and a host of stealthy ailments. Amusingly jostled as an account to be sparingly used on weekdays and compensated on weekends.

The sleepaholic in me cannot sustain without the mandatory 8 hours. A warm glass of milk acts as the perfect soporific. The moment I close my eyes, I am on a rollercoaster ride. Sleep takes me to that wonderful nether world, the sub-conscious mind, where everything is possible. Being an true blue optimist ensures that all my dreams are rosy. I might be falling off a cliff, but there is always someone to save me. Besides conjuring up beautiful images, dreams has given me a few clairvoyant calls into the future. I don't even need a snooze to rouse up. The 8 hours are hardwired. I wake up. I smile and do so the whole day. No exhaustion. No stress. My version of the 'Art of Living' is incomplete without adequate sleep.

Finally, please don't be harsh on me to club sleep with laziness. Laziness is exclusively for 10-hour-sleep weekends.