![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicO1y1wmQe4a-e3b85gjOzcf-34Xi4Fep1KtBJPixQa-Fv212kZJEJAHC5GvvgSvGdU8eX-yzaa8LlIPmKH3VhDc1p7ITVEGL7Gq4yudXQ8lSHGAPIUAwc7XBgtSp9Bhhh8GoUquhPRviC/s400/sleep.jpg)
Having long suffered from an acute case of insomnia, as well as two equally acute, but somewhat more recent cases of morning-class-and-long-commute-osis, I've come to realize that my quote-unquote "perfect" day is so prosaic and boring that it can be described with only one word: Sleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep.
Call it lack of imagination, but catching some z's, slumbering, hitting the hay, meeting the sandman (no, not the one from Neil Gaiman's comics), taking a nap, dozing off, passing out, and/or slipping into the comfort of a coma are all foremost things on my mind. My poor fragile little mind...
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