To sleep would be an awfully big adventure
One of my favorite activities - pastimes, really - is sleeping. I just love sleeping. I like to do everything in my power to make sure I get 9, 10 hours a day...which means once I have kids, I'll basically be fucked. One of the worst parts of working is that I can't take the midday naps I became accustomed to in college and law school.
I'm a little concerned about my excessive sleeping habit, however. I'm concerned that my idea of enjoying life literally involves sleeping my life away. As Gustav Graves says in Die Another Die: There'll be plenty of time to sleep when you're dead. Of course, he was also a North Korean colonel who'd had himself cut up to look like an English dude and wanted to melt the world with the sun, so he probably isn't the best authority on A Life Well Lived.
I think one of the things I like about sleep is the escapism. Sleep may not be where I'm a Viking, but it's nevertheless a place of wondrous occurrences. Ever since my dog passed away I've been having lots of dreams about him in which he's still alive. I also sponsor the occasional dream about - who else? - Dream Girl. Example: last night I dreamed I had brought her home for Christmas to meet my parents. It was nice. Then I woke up, thereby enduring a double dose of "PSYCH!"
I also had a dream last night that two of my female coworkers were in a loving lesbian relationship and, what's more, prone to impromptu make-out sessions in the middle of presentations. Today shouldn't be weird at work.
My point is this: I'm afraid that one of the things I enjoy most about my life - sleeping - is actually depriving me of enjoying my life. I don't know. I guess I should sleep on it.