There is this nagging ringing in my dreams. I was just visiting with Mr. Handsome in some quiet cafe in Florence. I was just getting used to the cool blue of his eyes when, all of a sudden, the fire alarm goes off?
It is 6:00 a.m. and alarm clocks are the bane of my existence. If you couldn’t grasp the pain which I feel for mornings from my entry for Day 16, well, you might need your head examined.
My weekday morning routine starts, and continues, with me hitting the snooze button for at least an hour. Oh, but sometimes I don’t even realize I’m hitting the snooze. Sometimes I just roll over and poof!
I’m convinced that the snooze button ought to be scared of Morning Jen by now, and it just hits itself, in anticipation of my eminent behavioral pattern.
After the alarm has nagged at me and given up, guilt inevitably takes over.
“Why aren’t you up yet?”
“Because my flannel sheets are warm and it’s a cold, cruel world out there.”
“Just get up and take a shower you lazy bumb.”
“Why do today what you can put off until tomorrow? Nobody would miss me at work.”
“Morning Jen, just repent of your sloth and get in the shower. You’ll feel better! It will wake you up!”
Eventually, I feel the hot water rushing over me, not entirely sure how I actually got in the shower. And later, when I am at work and nursing my second cup of coffee, I finally look around. The guilt is assuaged, the coworkers are staring into their own coffee cups, and I am vertical.
This is pretty much five mornings a week for me.