I have this fantasy of becoming a morning person. There are times when I have to get up early. Amidst my tired fog, I do love the early morning, when I am awake enough to notice its beauty. I always spend the afternoon and evening exhausted and cranky. This is the age old adage of wanting what we don’t have. I suppose the magic and mystique of early mornings would wear off after a while of actually experiencing them regularly. For now though, I want that magic and mystique.
Last night I went to bed early, shortly after 11:00PM. I set my alarm for 8:00AM. Plenty of sleep. I woke up a little before the alarm went off, I deceived myself into believing I felt refreshed and fully awake after my eight hours of sleep. (It was nowhere near eight hours of sleep after you take into account the hour or so it took to fall asleep and the middle of the night waking from a cat who needed to cuddle then find trouble.) I firmly believed I would manage to get myself out of the house by 9:00AM, before 9:00AM even. Silly, silly me.
I cannot get myself ready and out the door in an hour. No matter how many stupid magazines I read telling me about these high powered women who get ready in exactly 30 minutes every morning, I am not a high powered woman, nor are any magazines banging down my door for an interview. I take way more than 30 minutes to get ready in the morning. This whole not being a morning person means I barely function before at least one cup of coffee. I meditate for fifteen minutes first thing when I wake up. Then I stumble about. I make coffee. I usually spill some coffee on myself, which means I cannot get dressed while waiting for the coffee to brew. God only knows what I would look like if I did that. I’d probably wind up wearing a skirt as a shirt and think my pajama pants would suffice for the day since they are black and black not only matches everything but it is slimming to boot. After a little coffee I am able to shove contact lenses into my tired eyes. Then I get dressed. Oh wait, no I don’t. I sit on the couch listening to NPR and drinking my coffee because I convince myself that I have way more time than I actually do and that I get ready far faster than I actually do. After about five minutes of this I have a mini freak out when I realize that I only have 15 minutes left to get dressed, throw make-up on, eat breakfast, gulp more coffee, and get out of the apartment. Now would be a good time to note that this process takes 20 minutes. I’ll give you a moment to do the math.
This morning was not so different than the scenario I just described. Only the last part somehow wound up taking 25 minutes, it is not a rarity when I am especially tired. I did not get out of the house at 9:00AM. At 9:11AM I realized I was fucked and gave up. Yup, I just gave up this morning. Instead of racing out my door like a madwoman and saying a prayer to every transportation god that the MTA somehow not fuck up my commute, I gave up. It was a stellar moment. I threw my bags on the floor, took off my clothes, and put my pajamas back on. I had a little more coffee while kvetching on the couch. The cat was very confused. I was very cranky. By 9:40AM I was ready to be an adult again and dragged myself to the gym.
I did everything I had set out to do today, and a little more. I just did not make it to that 10:00AM yoga class in Brooklyn. I spent a fair amount of time throughout the day beating myself up for this morning’s fiasco. I also spent a fair amount of time figuring out how to practice getting up earlier and getting out of the house in less time. I have officially added one more New Year’s resolution to my list. The great thing is, I get to try this whole charade again tomorrow morning. The only difference is, I actually have to be somewhere by 8:30AM.