I hate to travel.
Scratch that, I love travelling. I hate to travel alone, without my family. It depresses me and really makes me crazy around bedtime. You see, I cannot fall asleep when I am travelling alone and it really makes it hard for me to focus when I am on a business trip. It’s hard to be on your “A Game” when you only get two to three hours of very uncomfortable sleep a night. Imagine how you would be by Friday after getting the same amount of sleep in one week that you might normally get in one night.
Not pretty. Trust me.
I have tried a wide variety of ideas that have been handed down to me once someone hears about my issues. I love that everyone wants to help, it’s what makes this country great – too bad none of them seem to work very well.
One suggestion was to dance myself to sleep. I really didn’t understand this, but I figured it was worth a shot. So I turned on MTV and prepared myself for a dance-a-thon that would begin once the commercials ended.
I completely forgot that they no longer play music on MTV, and the cheap radio in the hotel room, just doesn’t find a station clear enough to understand the lyrics, or more importantly, hear the beat. So I gave up and sat down and ate some french fries, and while they made me feel better initially, I had to spend a lot of extra time in the other room in my hotel room, if you know what I’m saying. Apparently filling up on greasy spuds, does not do my body good.
By the time I found myself in bed watching a rerun of Johnny Carson’s “Tonight Show” and dozing off to Ed McMahon saying “Yes!” it was well past midnight.
Somehow, I did finally fall asleep and entered the most disturbing part of the evening, my subconscious.
I found myself sitting on a chair in my bathroom spraying my hair down with some high-grade hairspray, which in itself is hilarious because I have been bald for the past twenty years, but I figured why not. If my subconscious sees me with David Coverdale hair, so be it. I didn’t really like seeing the grey hairs seeminvg to stand out and make let it be known that I am an old dude. Great, first I can’t sleep and now my subconscious is reminding me that I am old.
It gets better. As I leave my bathroom, which appears to be about twice the size of my house, again I am not minding this part since having a bathroom the size of a small ballroom could have its benefits. The tub alone was like an Olympic-sized swimming pool, so I can get my bubbles and some exercise all in one swoop.
I have to find this house!
Since I like the other white meat so much, I decided to have myself some pork chops – hey I can control my subconscious every now and again, can’t I? I felt like covering them with chocolate, but my mind took over and literally yelled in my dream ear, “CHOCOLATE!”
So I decided against adding the sweet stuff and went for some mustard instead. I don’t know why I did that but did feel like asking my mind if it had any Grey Poupon. I figured that my mind wouldn’t like it too much and might turn me into a Smurf or something. Imagine that, being turned into a Smurf.
No thank you.
When the alarm went off I was not as rested as one might think and decided to bring my iPod along for the next trip to give dancing another chance.