The kid didn't want to play this morning, but I did...
Looking for Sleep
By Robert Pappas
I opened one bleary eye. Again. For the fifth time.
The red numbers on my iPhone, dimmed in "sleep mode," which, let’s be honest, is a lie, whispered quietly: You'll never find her.
And with that, I gave in. I rolled over, sighed like a man twice my age (which is like 150), and sat up. Feet met cold ground. And there they were, waiting for me in the corner like regulars at a sad dive bar.
Anxiety was already pacing. She’s always early.
Distraction showed up too, this time as three identical versions of herself, bouncing around with things I definitely did want to look into but definitely shouldn’t.
Sarcasm, a wiry little thing in a too-tight blazer, gave me a dry nod.
And Wit? He looked up from the floor, barely visible. I squinted. “Hey, Wit,” I muttered, mostly to myself.
These characters never really answered. They just existed. Always had. But something or someone was missing.
Sleep.
Usually, she lingers at the end of the line, standing there with her arms crossed and a look that says, If you had come to bed thirty minutes earlier, maybe we’d be on better terms.
She’s sweet when she sticks around. Restorative, even.
But last night, she vanished. Not even her cousin Napping had stopped by.
So I asked the room.
“Anyone seen Sleep?”
Anxiety got taller.
Distraction multiplied again.
Sarcasm rolled her eyes and turned her back.
Wit got smaller.
Figures.
I checked the usual spots.
The hammock on the porch? Nope.
The warm driver’s seat when the heater is on? Nope.
On the couch, throw blanket with the remote? Tempting, but no.
I got ready and dragged myself to work.
Sometimes, when I put in long hours, she shows up, tucks herself between tasks, and pretends it is a coffee break.
No such luck today.
The day passed. I was fried. Toasted. Burnt on both sides.
Working without sleep or even a brief visit from Napping is rough. You start to lose grip on things like time, words, and the point of meetings.
Then, later that night, I walked in the door. Dropped my bag. Headed to the kitchen like a homing pigeon on autopilot. Cold chicken from the fridge? Check. One beer? Check.
By the third beer, I found her.
She was curled up behind the bottle, eyes closed, wearing that smug little smile that says, You didn’t earn me, but fine.
I didn’t argue. I picked her up, stumbled toward the couch, and let her take me.
WOW! I just loved how visceral this was—I saw each of your personas. I was especially tickled by "I checked the usual spots. The hammock on the porch? Nope. The warm driver’s seat when the heater is on? Nope. On the couch, throw blanket with the remote? Tempting, but no."
So clever and exactly the places we look for sleep.
Also this line: "She's sweet when she sticks around." (Reminds me of the phrase "sleep sweet.")
And the work naps—dead on! I know that experience.
Whats wrong with me you might ask? Well... I NEED TO FIND MY SLEEP! Im certain I missed placed it last night, maybe in my bed? I simply cannot find it anywhere!
This is entirely driving me crazy! It's making me tired too! I might as well go to sleep. Wait a minute... I think i might of just realized something! I'll just tell you later... Im tired right now anyhow, Where's my bed? Uh oh! I think i just fell on the floor!
(Snoring) Ah! Finally time to wake up. By the way, i forgot to tell you... I think i just found sleep!
Sleep is lost because I’m a dinosaur. A T-Rex in particular! I hunt at night, but sometimes at night I rest, I guess. And sometimes I keep watch while all the other TRex’s in my pack sleep.
I don’t like Sleep. Sleep takes away my playtime. what a bully. Step makes my pack snore. Sleep, I just hate him.
I lost my sleep - sounds like a metaphor, right? Well it’s not!
Sleep can take on a certain form, but the owner of that chunk of sleep chooses the form. I’ve met people who think their sleep is a layer of fog, but mostly everyone chooses an animal!
Sometimes my sleep is like a sea turtle, slow and smooth and hard to wake up from. Other times, it’s like a spider, sneaky, hard to find.
But last night my sleep was like a rabbit. I spent all night tossing and turning, trying to catch my sleep. My sleep lurked in bushes, behind trees and in holes. I got up heavy eyed and exhausted.
The kid didn't want to play this morning, but I did...
Looking for Sleep
By Robert Pappas
I opened one bleary eye. Again. For the fifth time.
The red numbers on my iPhone, dimmed in "sleep mode," which, let’s be honest, is a lie, whispered quietly: You'll never find her.
And with that, I gave in. I rolled over, sighed like a man twice my age (which is like 150), and sat up. Feet met cold ground. And there they were, waiting for me in the corner like regulars at a sad dive bar.
Anxiety was already pacing. She’s always early.
Distraction showed up too, this time as three identical versions of herself, bouncing around with things I definitely did want to look into but definitely shouldn’t.
Sarcasm, a wiry little thing in a too-tight blazer, gave me a dry nod.
And Wit? He looked up from the floor, barely visible. I squinted. “Hey, Wit,” I muttered, mostly to myself.
These characters never really answered. They just existed. Always had. But something or someone was missing.
Sleep.
Usually, she lingers at the end of the line, standing there with her arms crossed and a look that says, If you had come to bed thirty minutes earlier, maybe we’d be on better terms.
She’s sweet when she sticks around. Restorative, even.
But last night, she vanished. Not even her cousin Napping had stopped by.
So I asked the room.
“Anyone seen Sleep?”
Anxiety got taller.
Distraction multiplied again.
Sarcasm rolled her eyes and turned her back.
Wit got smaller.
Figures.
I checked the usual spots.
The hammock on the porch? Nope.
The warm driver’s seat when the heater is on? Nope.
On the couch, throw blanket with the remote? Tempting, but no.
I got ready and dragged myself to work.
Sometimes, when I put in long hours, she shows up, tucks herself between tasks, and pretends it is a coffee break.
No such luck today.
The day passed. I was fried. Toasted. Burnt on both sides.
Working without sleep or even a brief visit from Napping is rough. You start to lose grip on things like time, words, and the point of meetings.
Then, later that night, I walked in the door. Dropped my bag. Headed to the kitchen like a homing pigeon on autopilot. Cold chicken from the fridge? Check. One beer? Check.
By the third beer, I found her.
She was curled up behind the bottle, eyes closed, wearing that smug little smile that says, You didn’t earn me, but fine.
I didn’t argue. I picked her up, stumbled toward the couch, and let her take me.
WOW! I just loved how visceral this was—I saw each of your personas. I was especially tickled by "I checked the usual spots. The hammock on the porch? Nope. The warm driver’s seat when the heater is on? Nope. On the couch, throw blanket with the remote? Tempting, but no."
So clever and exactly the places we look for sleep.
Also this line: "She's sweet when she sticks around." (Reminds me of the phrase "sleep sweet.")
And the work naps—dead on! I know that experience.
"...and let her take me." Chef's kiss!
Would love to read your children's freewrites if you post them here!
Jinan - age 10
I feel like i want to gouge my eyes out!
Whats wrong with me you might ask? Well... I NEED TO FIND MY SLEEP! Im certain I missed placed it last night, maybe in my bed? I simply cannot find it anywhere!
This is entirely driving me crazy! It's making me tired too! I might as well go to sleep. Wait a minute... I think i might of just realized something! I'll just tell you later... Im tired right now anyhow, Where's my bed? Uh oh! I think i just fell on the floor!
(Snoring) Ah! Finally time to wake up. By the way, i forgot to tell you... I think i just found sleep!
THE END
Zion - age 7 (dictated to mom)
Sleep is lost because I’m a dinosaur. A T-Rex in particular! I hunt at night, but sometimes at night I rest, I guess. And sometimes I keep watch while all the other TRex’s in my pack sleep.
I don’t like Sleep. Sleep takes away my playtime. what a bully. Step makes my pack snore. Sleep, I just hate him.
Thomas - age 10 (he was mad, he had to think too hard he said😆)
I don’t know where or why it’s gone.
I accally didn’t reelize that gone would fit for both words, where or why.
It probally left during the day.
So now in bed, I wish it was here.
I tried to fall asleep by imagigening where it is.
France,
Italy,
India,
Spain,
Brizil,
Argintina,
Nigiria,
Por……zzzzzzzzz
Abigail - age 12
I lost my sleep - sounds like a metaphor, right? Well it’s not!
Sleep can take on a certain form, but the owner of that chunk of sleep chooses the form. I’ve met people who think their sleep is a layer of fog, but mostly everyone chooses an animal!
Sometimes my sleep is like a sea turtle, slow and smooth and hard to wake up from. Other times, it’s like a spider, sneaky, hard to find.
But last night my sleep was like a rabbit. I spent all night tossing and turning, trying to catch my sleep. My sleep lurked in bushes, behind trees and in holes. I got up heavy eyed and exhausted.
Tonight my sleep is going to be a sloth!