He sees you when you're sleeping,
He knows when you're awake,
He knows if you've been bad or good,
So be good, for goodness sake.
No, the sleep clinic. Tonight, I shall be esteemed guest of The Hotel Southeast Lung & Critical Care Specialists. I'm supposed to be there at 8:30 (exactly 91 minutes from right now), where the highly-trained staff of servants will strap lots of wires, sensors and gawd knows what else to my person. I'll be a walking Caltech, right in the middle of Effingham County.
Count me as one who has had sleep apnea episodes for quite some time. And now that my wife is having her apnea treated, it's my turn.
This "hotel" carries no chain identity, and has no famous mascot (such as the original TraveLodge "Sleepy Bear", above; not the uber-cute current-day rendition of Sleepy). It has not been rated by AAA. But it does carry an AMA rating -- a triple-ZZZ, I do believe.
No phone, no pool, no pets. No cigarettes. Not even satellite and/or cable TV. I believe the telly in the room just gets WTOC -- uh oh, Tuesday night means Bill Cathcart. Better pass on the tube tonight, ma'am -- don't want to get my systolic and dyastolic through the roof when I'm trying to relax and count sheep ... or bears.
I don't worry about falling asleep in there, though. As my wife will quickly tell you, I can snooze in a folding lounge chair on a casino boat deck amidst lots of rowdy drinking and loud, off-key karaoke (I shouldn't be so redundant in my writing).
Best of all, "Hotel Southeast" has a personal wake-up service. No automated phone calls with a thick Indian accent; I'll be awakened, fully refreshed, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed amidst the still-darkness of 5:00 a.m. And they'll send me on my merry (*yawn*) way.
Check-out time is 530, according to the wifely one.
Okay, it's now 7:12. Z minus 78 minutes.
Ciao for niao.
--Talmadge "What? No in-room coffee??!!" Gleck
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