I think I've gone south of the border. I've crossed the great divide. I've past the point of no return.
I'm sleeping for pleasure.
I'm now waking up at 8am, checking the time, doing a good impression of John's "Naaaaaahhhh mate and just rolling over and going back to sleep.
Sleep is no longer defined in my head as "something you do when tired", but as "something you do and enjoy immensely". It's just that cocoon feeling that nothing matters. There's poverty and discrimination in the world today, and there's a chance Obama won't win, but here and now, it's warm and cozy under the duvet, and you have a whole 3 hours before you have to consider getting up. It's wonderful.
Before today, my favourite feeling in the world would have been either A) the one you have on a friday at 4 PM or B) Thinking you haven't your homework done, and the relief at finding you do actually have it done
Now I know I was mistaken. The warm and fuzzy feeling of sleep trumps them all
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