Today I beat the sun to work. The sun. It’s so wrong I don’t even know where to begin. And so now I’m sitting here, and I thought “hey, this would be a good time for me to do a little writing!” and then I LAUGHED AND LAUGHED AND LAUGHED. Because the actual list of things that this would be a good time for looks like this:
Notice the distinct lack of a number 2? Notice? Yeah, I noticed that too.
The dude I dated used to try to wake me up early on the weekends (and by early I mean any time before 9:55am, of course) for a little morning nooky. The first time I truly thought he was kidding, and I’m pretty sure I punched him in the side of the head because morning is not a time for jokes, it’s a time for sleeping. And again, the whole thing is foggy because HELLO, SLEEPING RIGHT NOW!!!!, but I vaguely remember staring at him for a r-e-a-l-l-y l-o-n-g t-i-m-e once I got that he was not kidding at all. Because I couldn’t figure out what else to do, and staring was the thing most like sleeping that I could come up with. (Point in fact, I might even have managed some open-eyed sleeping at that point, just because I knew that as long as I was making some kind of eye contact he’d think I was thinking it over and leave me alone.)
This same person (I hope by now you already get how not at all meant to be he and I were) used to tell me that if I just went to bed earlier I’d be able to get up all cheery and happy and full of bunnies and daisies and rays of sunshine. Ridiculous. The day I leap out of bed with vim and verve is the day someone fills my mattress with stingy, bitey bugs. On fire. Carrying switchblades. And I could probably sleep through that anyway.