Somewhere between my third slice of pie and my third dog stepping on my stomach, I read the wildest thing. Scientists found tryptophan, the same sleepy amino acid we blame for our Thanksgiving couch comas, on Bennu. That is a small asteroid that swings by Earth every six years like a nosy cosmic neighbor. Sounds like something out of Stargate.

But anyway, we now have extraterrestrial tryptophan.
Space turkey seasoning followed by an intergalactic nap dust.

Fantastic.

Because clearly what humanity needs right now is the risk of tryptophan rays washing over us from deep space, knocking us into mass synchronized naps like some kind of global shutdown sequence. Actually, maybe we do. But that would be a digression.

Back to Bennu. Tell me you can’t picture the Twilight Zone episode already:

“Submitted for your approval. The world that slept. Not because they were tired. Not because they were bored. But because an asteroid sneezed on them.”

Honestly, it writes itself.

And then Hollywood is absolutely going to jump in. Get ready for the next big asteroid blockbuster.

“NAPSIDIAN: The Day the Earth Got Drowsy.” Starring an A-list hero trying to stop humanity from collectively sleepwalking into the ocean.

Meanwhile, scientists will be explaining in very serious tones.
“Yes, the asteroid is made of dust, rock, and um Thanksgiving.”

But here’s the real question no one is asking. If extraterrestrial tryptophan starts drifting our way, what counteracts it on a planetary scale?

Do we just hand every human a treadmill desk and say, “Best of luck, Earthlings”? Do we deploy worldwide caffeine misting stations? Issue emergency espresso rations? Invent a new pill called AntiNapra (kind of literal, I know) which will inevitably come with side effects like “mild hallucinations, chronic optimism, and sudden urges to alphabetize your spice rack”?

Or maybe we embrace the cosmic siesta. We lean into the universal yawn. We say, “Fine, Bennu, hit me with your best shot, but let me get my blanket first.”

Because truth be told, after Thanksgiving, I don’t need an asteroid’s help to get sleepy.
Gravity, mashed potatoes, cherry relish, and my couch already have that conspiracy well underway.

Still, I am now officially on alert.
If I suddenly get overwhelmed with drowsiness sometime in the next six years, I’m not blaming turkey. I’m blaming Bennu who is apparently the universe’s sleepy little prankster.

And somewhere, out in the silent dark, that asteroid is drifting, probably smirking. Plotting its next pass. Armed with amino acids.

A cosmic lullaby on loop.

Night-night, Earth.