Posted On April 23, 2014 By In Girlzone, Lifestyle

The Inner Monologue of Someone Going to Work on 2 Hours of Sleep

 
 

7am: The Slumber

Fuck it, I’m not going to work. I’ll just call in sick. I have sick days, right? They’ll understand even though I’m taking two days off for the holidays. Fuck it then, I’ll just come in late. I’ll turn off my alarm and just sleep until my body wakes me up and then go to work.

9am: The Wakeup

Okay, this isn’t so bad, you can do this. It’s only 8 hours. 8 hours and then you can body-slam into bed and pass out for eternity. Yeah, you got this. You are gonna fuckin’ kill this day. BOOM. Watch out, Tuesday, cause I’m about to go Ted Bundy on your ass, motherfucker.

10am: The Drive

I wonder how much sleep deprivation it takes to fall asleep at the wheel. Whatever, it’s only a few miles and people only fall asleep at the wheel and cause horrific accidents when they’re doing really long drives on endless stretches of rural highway in the wee hours of the morning, right? I’ll just blast my music really loud to keep me awake. Yeah. Was that a puppy in the next car…? Oh. No, it was just a plastic bag. What’s that drug truck drivers take to keep themselves awake? Where can I get that?

10:20am: The Arrival

Mission Objective: Coffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffee.

10:25am: The Search

Where is this damn coffee pot? I have literally looked everywhere and I can’t find it. It’s like God doesn’t want me to have this coffee. God just wants me to fucking pass out from exhaustion because I can’t make that fucking coffee. Damn it, now these tears are clouding my vision. I’ll never fucking find it. Fuck it, I’ll just go to Java Monkey.

10:30am: The Coffee

Ahhhhh, sweet nectar of the Gods. You will get me through this. Every three hours we will meet again.

12:00pm: The Reality

Six. More. Hours. FUCK!!

2:00pm: The Debate

I should probably eat something, even though I feel like I’m going to throw up. Who needs food? I don’t. I don’t even like food. There is seriously nothing on this earth that I want to put in my stomach at this moment, least of all this quinoa salad. Fuck quinoa.  I’ll just eat some anyway; it probably can’t hurt. At least this is a good diet. Fuck quinoa, though. I could seriously go for some Chick Fil-A.

4:00pm: The Crash

Shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit. This is it. I’m going to die. I can’t do this anymore. What if I just leave work now? I’ll have to pay for parking if I leave the deck before 6pm. Is my sanity work $6? More coffee? Why is my eye twitching?

5:00pm: The Home Stretch

One fucking hour. Oh my fucking god I can do this, I made it. WE MADE IT, FAM!!! N*GGA WE MADE IT!!! …shit, does that make me a racist that I just thought the N-word, even though I meant it in the context of that song and Drizzy’s half white anyway? Will have to ask my black friends later. I deserve a fucking Lifetime Achievement Award for this shit. A Lifetime Achievement Award, and a Lunesta prescription.

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Sara F Carter is a writer for Writtalin. Sara graduated from Emory University with a BA in Creative Writing and a BS in Theme Parties. She loves Batman, whiskey, crime dramas, and series of unrelated nouns. She wants to grow up to be a rapper's wife. Her last name is not actually Carter, but one day it will be.

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