When I was younger, and up until college, sleep really wasn't all that important to me. I remember being up early and having to wait until 11am before I could even attempt to call my friends. Then came college. Everyone balked at my 8am classes and I couldn't understand why. A week into it, I understood. Somewhere within that first week of college, I got older. My metabolism slowed down. Maybe it was too many Big Macs, who knows. Or maybe it was that my metabolism sped up from the huge increase in caffeinated beverages.
But I never truly understood the value of sleep until I became a firefighter. I never knew what true exhaustion was until hauling hose up the side of the mountain and chasing a fire for over 30 hours, with little if any sleep, and limited food. I think that's when my own bed took on a lot more value. Just visualizing being at home in my own bed causes my heart to bleed. When I'm out on "the line", I can feel my body embraced by my bed and comforted by my blanket. I can feel the soft curve of the pillow under my head. It's painful, yes: very painful.
Today I walked into my room to change, and stared at my bed. Longing to just give up and snuggle under the covers and close my eyes and block out the rest of the world. I resisted though because it was only 5:30pm. It waits for me...
