Tuesday sucked. I had to get up at 530 to get to work on time, something I had done the morning before because I had messed up my schedule, and lack of good sleep two nights in a row left me exhausted. I was running on fumes and hated my life as I climbed out of bed.
As with most sleep deprived people, I’m a grouchy mess when I’m not sleeping well or enough. I don’t want to work or engage in conversation or exercise professionalism. I want to get back in my bed and sleep until tomorrow.
For me to attempt any task on Tuesday was risky, as any twinge of annoyance would have caused my exhaustion to spill out in the form of screaming and crying.
Thankfully I was able to keep my attitude in check. I don’t think anyone knew just how cranky I felt. I pushed through the day and went directly home, where I changed into pjs and turned my brain off for the rest of the evening. After having to white-knuckle my mood all day, I was both physically and mentally exhausted.
I feel so old writing this risk. Gone are the days of getting two hours of sleep and then working an eight-hour day. I’ve said goodbye to being able to rally the morning after a night of drinking. Now I find myself hating my life after just a glass or two of wine or less than seven hours of sleep. And don’t get me started on the effects of junk food.
My body is starting to revolt. And I’m starting to let it.