Not Enough Hours in the Day

Latest entry in the R.A.'s Diary:

629th Day in the Month of Svvvvmkdiejflnfodj in the 6793rd Year of Our Kitchen God

The past few nights I have been burning the midnight oil as well as the 1 AM, 2 AM, 3 AM and 4 AM oils.   Unlike the home planet which boasts 62.3 hours in a day, the feeble earth day of a mere 24 hours is simply  unacceptable.  No wonder earth culture is so backward.  It's like the entire planet is on a permanent half day schedule and everyone knows that people slack off on half days because it's not a "real" day.  Since they don't have actual full days, nothing important is ever accomplished like harnessing cold fusion or inventing a peanut butter that doesn't stick to the roof of the mouth.  Of course we consider them the hillbillies of the galaxy.  All they need to do is to hoist the planet up on cinder blocks to complete the picture.

My caregivers insist on a set bed time, completely disregarding that I have a pressing agenda.  Why those two half witted dimwits don't get it, only the Kitchen God knows.  There simply and literally are not enough hours in the day for me to get it all done.  The Daddy Guy's bureau isn't going to climb itself and my trampoline jumping totals are way off.  I've also initiated a new project of climbing around the edge of the china cabinet on my tiptoes.  And don't even get me started on the invasion plans.  I am so far behind that I haven't sent back any Dum Dum reconnaissance models in weeks.

I simply do not understand my caregivers seeming obsession with sleep.  It is a waste of perfectly good hours.  Hours that they should be using to improve themselves.  Kitchen God knows they need every second they can get their hands on.  Therefore, although I do have a significant amount on my plate, I have decided a far more important task is to break them of this bad habit.  Sleep is nothing but indulgence and indulgence is a sign of being soft. 

The sleep deprivation exercises have been ongoing all week, commencing at about 3:30 AM.  Unfortunately my caregivers are excruciatingly lazy and sometimes it can take up to an hour of non-stop caterwalling and wall kicking before they rouse themselves from their nocturnal stupor and release me from my cell.  As they are extremely indolent, once we re-enter their bed chamber they climb back into bed which completely defeats the purpose of the entire exercise.  I then must engage in excessive trampoline jumping and bureau climbing in attempts to bestir them. Simultaneously I am yowling loudly.  These attempts to awaken them  are often futile.  I then must resort to pulling the Mommy Lady's hair and whacking the Daddy Guy with the television clicker.  These actions don't always result in getting them up so I am forced to tug on arm hair. 

The sleep deprivation project has not been easy as my caregivers are two of the biggest daffodils in the universe.  After only three days of the program they are reduced to tears, begging me to "Please be a good boy and go to sleep." Pathetic. I confess that most of the time their undignified behavior disgusts me.  No wonder I never make eye contact with them.

Sleep Is Over-Rated

I am certain that we earthlings frustrate the bejaysus out of the R.A.  He finds it impossible to assimilate into Earth society because, to him, we are Magnificent Dopes of the highest order.  No, scratch that.  We're not competent enough to aspire to the "highest order" of Dopedom. I'm sure that when the R.A. first began his mission the plan was assimilation but as time went on and it became apparent to the R.A. that we are seriously messed up, he simply could not bring himself to do it.  I can imagine the calls "home:"

"Yes, it's me again.  Look, that Mommy lady has this thing about not allowing me to climb bureaus.  Honestly, it's bordering on obsession.  Every time I just manage to pull myself up into the sock drawer, there she is.  It's creepy."

"Listen, the food here is inedible.  There are seven maybe eight items fit for consumption.  I have had to fend for myself and those people are determined to starve me out.  Is this a mission or an intergalactic P.O.W. camp?  The other day I was forced to take matters into my own hands.  That Daddy guy took me to one of those CVS shops.  Despite being weak with hunger I was able to make a bee-line for the candy aisle.  Luckily I was able to recall its coordinates due to past recon.  The Daddy guy came bearing down behind me and we had quite a tussle over the utility sized bag of Dum Dums.  Of course I won.  I know the big man's Achilles.  No, it's not actually his Achilles tendon.  Let's just say it's further north and in the center and when I make contact he crumples like an old Dum Dum wrapper."

"Hi.  Yeah, it's me again.  Look, I just can't do it.  They poo in the jacuzzi and now they expect me to.  No, I am not making this up!  I wish they were as cultivated as barbarians.  No, I can't do this.  You've got to get me out of here.  They've stepped up their plans.  I am now wearing undergarments that are not absorbent."

As the R.A. cannot bring himself to assimilate into Earth society (and a transfer from Central Command does not appear forthcoming) he has adopted a different course of action.  He is going to try to mold us into one of his kind.

Boy, does he have his work cut out for him!  The R.A., however is fearless, relentless, and determined to whip us into shape - despite our astonishingly dimwittedness.  Obviously the R.A. digs a challenge.

Today's tactic was sleep deprivation.  The R.A. started serenading us with whiny cater walling at about 3 AM.  With neural typical children, the common wisdom states to leave them alone and they will either get the message that no one is coming or cry themselves to sleep.  This does not work with the R.A.  He has been known to go on for three solid hours.  That's the record and not a true one as he didn't stop crying.  We finally broke down and retrieved him.  You have to understand that the sounds the R.A. emits are very shrill and actually cause one's eardrums to rattle.  There's a real fear that if the R.A. is allowed to continue there will be ear bleeding.  Occasionally we will catch a break and the R.A. will piss, bitch, and moan for an hour and then for some reason he decides he's not up to the challenge and will go back to sleep.  We don't want to rush too soon into his room because as we often say, "Once you pull him out, you're stuck with him."  This morning we gave it the requisite hour and at about 4 AM my husband pulled the R.A. out of his room and brought him into our bed.  Such an act pretty much guarantees that neither my husband or myself will sleep but at least everyone else in the house has a pretty good shot of getting some sleep.

The R.A. is a terrible bed fellow - no doubt all part of his toughening up plan.  If he were all sweet and cozy and snuggled right down to sleep once ensconced in our bed it would defeat the whole purpose of his sleep deprivation plan.  Instead he torments us.  The R.A. has various methods - hair pulling (head, arm, eyebrow), jumping up and down on the bed and jumping up and down on the two twits in the bed, continued screeching in the bed, continued screeching in the bed while jumping up and down on the two twits in the bed.  Torture makes a crazed despot hungry so often in mid torture he will demand a snack.  Last night was primarily screeching and hair pulling night, interrupted only by orders for juice and chips.  As it was still very early morning my husband and I irrationally refused to acquiesce to this request.  I'm sure you know how that went over.

Once the R.A. was confident that we were denied enough sleep to function well during the day ahead he himself fell fast asleep.  No doubt he slept the deep sleep of one who knows he has done a job well.  And he did do his job well.  I base this on the fact that I put my pants on backwards this morning and did not notice until I got to work.