Page 1 of Sleeper: The Palisades Edition
SHANE MILLER SLEEP DIARY
MONDAY, 6:15 AM
Went to bed at:Around midnight. Spent an hour and a half prepping food and packing up lunches for the kids, for the entire school week because I’m awesome.
How long it took you to fall asleep:Forever. I have insomnia. Duh.
How many times you woke up in the middle of the night:Infinity.
How refreshing your overall sleep was:It wasn’t. Fuck my life.
Number of caffeinated beverages you consumed throughout the day:Zero. Thanks for advising me to quit! Fuck quitting coffee.
Number of alcoholic beverages you consumed throughout the day:As if. I wish.
How much time you spent exercising:3 hours. How else do you think movie stars stay in shape? My quads are on fire. Fuck my personal trainer and fuck whoever thinks adequate exercise leads to better sleep.
Your stress level before bedtime, on a scale from 1 to 5:5000.
Your major cause of stress:On Friday, the fucking nanny quit to get married. I mean, I’m happy for her. Yay for being young and in love and I wish them all the best, but could she maybe have given us some notice BEFORE my ex-wife and her husband left for three months to shoot in the mountains of Poland? Or perhaps waited until AFTER they return?
Because Margo will throw a fit if I hire anyone that she doesn’t approve of and hasn’t met in person. Meanwhile I’m still getting back on a regular schedule after wrapping my last movie and doing night shoots on the East Coast, and as we know, I do not respond well to sleeping pills. So, I AM FUCKED.
Also, I don’t have a fucking clue how I’m ever going to meet a woman that I can really love if I didn’t even like dating in Hollywood when I was a horny teenager. On-location flings are fine and all, but so far I haven’t met one woman I’d want to introduce my kids to. I may as well just buy a minivan and a blow-up doll and call it a day. Fuck dating.
And you know what—I’m still mad about the last three episodes ofGame of Thrones, but I guess that’s not the “major” cause of my stress at the moment. Fuck you, HBO.
But hey, I have this fucking amazing sleep diary, so there’s that. I’m guessing this is TMI for your sleep hygiene analysis purposes, since there wasn’t enough room for long answers and I’ve continued onto the back page. But it helps to vent.
P.S. I mean no disrespect, Dr. Shaw. Please forgive the f-bombs. I’m just a little cranky because I got maybe two hours of sleep and I have to get the kids ready for school. Maybe I can just close my eyes for another fifteen minutes…
ONE
SHANE
“Daddy. Daddy. Daddy. Daddy. Daddy.”
“Mmmph?”
“Summer said to woke you up.”
“Hunh?”
“I already brushed my teeth, but I’m hungry. Why can’t we have toothpaste for eating?”
There’s a forty-pound human straddling my back, and I can’t move my head to see the clock. “Wha? What time is it?”
“Summer said it’s okay.”
“Where is she?”
“In the kitchen. Cleaning up.”
“Cleaning up what? You gotta climb off me, buddy. I have to get up.”
Lucky slides off me and onto the rug with a little thud. “She said don’t tell you.”
Yeah, that sounds like Summer. It’s funny how they take turns being the good twin and the naughty one. This year, Lucky’s the good one. He’s already dressed in his private school polo shirt and khaki pants.
