Happy birthday, Pops

I just called my dad to wish him a happy 52nd, and, just like last year, he was at work. He sounded tired. I found out it's because of some new medicine he's on to, ironically, help him sleep. If he doesn't take it at a certain time and get a certain amount of sleep, he has to trudge through the next day with that annoying cold-medicine buzz droning in his head.

So, in addition to my wish last year that he could find a way to retire early and leave that godforsaken paper mill, I'd like to submit to the cosmos an additional wish: Let the man get some decent sleep. Like, every night. No one should have to suit up and strap rubber and plastic tubing around his head before climbing into bed. No one should be told by his doctor that if he doesn't start getting some sleep, his body is going to start shutting down. No one.

But especially my dad.