You, your bed, and your cat. Or: The pain of sleep deprivation.

So there I was: in my bed, snuggled up in old, well-worn pajamas and an oversized sweatshirt, my body underneath a sheet, three layers of overstuffed comforters, and one 10 pound tortoiseshell cat, and I was shivering uncontrollably. After a few minutes my mind caught up to the situation and acknowledged that warmth would be not far off, so I was able to will my shivering to stop. It was 5:00 a.m., and I needed to concentrate on getting my one last precious hour of sleep.

Ninety minutes earlier I was in precisely the same situation minus two layers of overstuffed comforter, and I had been able to curb my body spasms just long enough to fall asleep, only to wake up an hour and a half later again shivering unconsciously, my back clenched into a state of anguish and pain that would last well into the day. That was when I got out of bed to retrieve a second comforter, which I folded in half and added as two sources of ammo in my body-heat-containing arsenal. My house was 66 degrees, its normal overnight temperature.

I am 36 years old and in the cushy lifestyle I have engineered for myself, it seems that my body does not react well to sleep deprivation. While I was enjoying the warm weight of my cat, my last 48 hours had seen less than six hours of sleep, and I knew my body was in for more of the same abuse. I had gotten myself into a fix on a project, and working full steam ahead for as long as I could stay awake was my only hope for survival.

And as I lay there I could clearly remember my old college days, when sleep deprivation was all the rage. Mind you, I didn't work very hard in college, but pulling all-nighters was a feat that earned you some sort of badge of honor. Once I didn't sleep at all for three days. Once I had to move to a new apartment with the aid of only my Ford Explorer, and I packed and moved myself for 30 hours straight without a single nap. Afterwards, I felt compelled to visit my friends in the computer lab to show them my strength, rather than collapse in a heap on my laboriously-lugged futon.

It seems those days are gone. And I've only aggravated the situation over the last four years by freelancing, as my main motivation for leaving the full time lifestyle was to be able to make my own hours. Like most freelancers, I do get up in the morning, bathe and dress, but I can almost always afford my eight hours of sleep at night. (Some lucky nights I even enjoy nine.)

Interestingly, I never suffer from jet lag. All you have to do when you reach your destination is conform to the new time zone, enduring a maximum of one day of pain. If you arrive early in the day, just keep yourself busy until evening when you can return to your hotel and get a long night's sleep. If you arrive late in the day and can't sleep during sleeping hours, your second day will be your day of pain. But after staying awake those few extra hours, one good night's sleep is 100% healing.

It's day-after-day sleep deprivation that does me in. I'm now working with 11 hours of sleep since Monday morning, and I broke down and picked up my first coffee of the week on my way to work. Ironically, I purchased it to give me something to do to help keep my eyes open at the wheel (which can be a problem for me), but I somehow missed every coffee shop until I was only about a mile from work. My venti now sits here at my desk, mocking me. It knows I'm running on diminished faculties, and it does nothing to help me. I should have saved the two bucks and more importantly, the ten minutes, which I could have applied to future sleep time. One good night's sleep is all I need. And a warm cat.