Surly Snobby

Saturday, April 10, 2004

Morning Sickness

I am so not a morning person. I am not one of those people who can simply spring out of bed, their day's itinerary already fully-formed in a brain that is already firing off precision neurons without the aid of caffeine, a shower, and several minutes of staring blankly at whatever takes the least amount of effort to stare at. "Hello, beautiful day!" they sing to the world, even when it's grey out or four feet of snow has appeared on the ground since the last time they were conscious, "What adventures do you have in store for me today?" You can just hear the chipper, 1960s-inspired soundtrack as they skip through their sun-dappled day.

In contrast, my mornings involve a lot of waiting for the perfect moment to fall out of bed, fumblings for coffee grounds, tripping over mewing cats who confuse movement for affection, and wondering how many of those things I swore yesterday I'd do today can be put off until tomorrow. There is no life before one coffee. There is no brainpower before two coffees. There is no leaving the apartment until three coffees.

I have briefly considered trying to emulate these happy glowing sunshine sun children. For a while when I was working, I would go through periods of thinking I should be leading a certain kind of "lifestyle". I would spring out of bed without hitting the snooze once and fall flat on my face as my feet got tangled in the bedding. I would eat healthy bran and roughage encrusted rabbit food for breakfast and make a list of all the things I was going to get done that day - buy arugula, donate old clothes, clean gunk between bathroom tiles, paint living room, cure cancer, etc. - and set off on my merry quest for perfection for the day. My downfall would usually occur when I would get overconfident and think that I would be able to function by drinking tea instead of coffee. No, I'm serious. I really tried it. After one day of grumpiness and headaches, my coworkers would usually tie me down and force coffee down my throat until I was just as stunned and jumpy as they. And the old, more regular habits would begin to resurrect themselves one by one.

As you can see, it just doesn't work for me. But I no longer feel jealous of these mutants. I was taught never to covet my neighbour's ass (although there's this one gorgeous ray on sunshine on my floor, speaking of neighbour's asses! When I time it right, we do laundry at the same time...but he's straight, the sadist). Now I just hate them, as one should do. They set the bar so high in terms of expectations of what is humanly possible - I have even considered that they're not really human I but haven't got around to proving it yet...tomorrow - that the rest of us, those of us who are normal, spend our lives in a haze of inadequacy and disillusionment: "I once thought I was a good person, but I just can't get up in the morning."

So here is my plan. First, I will become evil and devoid of morals or compassion for my fellow man. Then I will sit back, relaxed and sipping on my morning coffee, while my morning people colleagues rush about and accomplish things in a state of heightened hypertension. Then, once they've collapsed from exhaustion I will step in, finish whatever they started, and take all the credit. It's the natural order of things. (If you're a potential boss reading this, it's just a JOKE! Hee hee hee hee hee!)

But don't worry. I'll go visit them when they are "strongly encouraged" to take a few personal days for health reasons...if I get around to it that day.



Haphazardly thrown together by Surly
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