Up The Wooden Hill

I wish I didn’t have to sleep, it’s such a waste of time. Sadly, millennia of evolution and human biology means a nightly trip to slumberland (the abstract location for unconscious thoughts, not the bed shop) is nothing short of mandatory in order to remain a useful and fully functioning member of society.

Bugger.

Popular stats tell us that “normal” people spend around a third of their life asleep (“abnormal” people such as students spend even more, while Mrs Thatcher famously needed only four hours a night). This seems to be such a nonsensical frittering away of the piddly amount of time we spend on the planet, which at best is only around 100 years (and during the latter years it’s arguable whether we contribute much at all except shouting, extra laundry and strange musty odours).

If you were always awake, just think of all the things you could do. You could spend more time with loved ones, read all the books you could, go all the places you’ve ever wanted to go, or alternatively find a cure for cancer or create a literary masterpiece etc. You’d have more time, and we live in an era in which time is in fairly short supply. Plus you wouldn’t have any more disturbing dreams about being naked in a supermarket (or maybe that’s just me).

There are downsides though. Far from producing literary masterpieces, people like John Grisham would produce more crap books (though steadily administering sleeping pills could prevent him from picking up a pen). People would also be much shorter as physical growth speeds up while asleep. Plus there’d be no more amusing programmes about sleep disorders in which footage showing people twatting themselves over the head with vases and beating up duvets is shown for public entertainment.

On balance though, I think I’d like more time in a state of consciousness.