No snooze is good snooze

I made a grave error in judgement.  It is in the family of hubris where you would find things like wearing a white shirt to a spaghetti dinner or proclaiming you will only eat one Oreo.   My error?  A cat nap.  I even set an alarm.  It went off, but my body didn't care.  After being awake for several days it had enough of my shenanigans.  I woke up five hours later bright-eyed and ready for the day at 10:30pm.  And if that wasn't disorienting enough I came downstairs to discover the aftermath of my multi-day study-bender.

In my blind focus to finish a project I left a wake of hot-pocket sleeves and depleted gel pens.  The cats were homesteading in a pair of discarded slacks.  The carpet had been refurbished with a thick layer of equation-laced scratch paper.  The empty shells of energy drinks I had been downing in true Dionysian enthusiasm were scattered and sometimes stacked near, but inexplicably not *in* the recycle bin.  I discovered that at some point in the past few days I found it necessary to drag out my entire heavy metal collection, listen to it all and never put the discs back in their proper cases.  And to reorganize them would require some advanced application of the Futurama Theorem.  My sweet husband who had grown suspicious of my ability to feed myself when he found me eating a dinner of taco shells and peanut butter had lovingly prepared me several Tupperware compartments of his famous "chicky biskit delux".  I found their carcasses in various locations throughout the living room where they had been thoroughly reworked by the cats and dragged into their hiding places.  By this point I am reminded of an episode of Red Dwarf where the crew awakes to find their memories erased, their puzzle finished and their feet in casts and no memory of how it happened.  To which there is only one real explanation.