Waking Up Is Hard To Do.

It’s 6:29 a.m. I’m on the brink of cowering in fear under the sheets and blankets, knowing that any second the alarm is going to go off, signaling the fact that I need to get out of bed. Being the freak geek that I am, the alarm clock is set to the atomic standard, so it’s right in sync with the local NPR station. The alarm goes off just as their joyous news music kicks in and “This in NPR News, I’m Jean Cochran…” blares out of the 15 year old device.

I’ve been semi-awake for the past 29 minutes as Earl got out of bed at 6:00, stirring Tom, who has been pawing at my face and making noises that sound like he’s been strangled; it’s his way of saying that he’s hungry.

“Shut up! Stop making noise! Leave for work! Don’t you have a breakfast meeting?” my brain screams as I muster all my energy to make an effort to be civil in the morning as I say, “Good morning sweetheart.” I even manage a weak smile. Truth of the matter is, it’s not Earl’s fault that I have to get up and go to work at this ungodly hour of 8:00 a.m. I could easily abandon this lunacy and get a real job as a greeter in a 24 hour Wal*Mart Supercenter, but no, I go for the challenge of a normal workday.

Still trying to be civil, I stumble into the bathroom to do my thing, which makes Tom utter more strangling noises. I tell him “I’m using my litterbox”, trying to use familiar terms for His Impatientness, but he doesn’t care. There’s kibble to be poured.

After putzing around the house and catching up on e-mail and whatnot for a half hour or so, I find the sanctity of the shower. The water is like magic as it washes away the waking crankies. While I won’t be truly awake until after lunchtime, at least I feel like I’m able to make an effort now.

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