Mornings

Anyone who knows me will know that I hate mornings. It's not just that I'm not a morning person. I hate mornings. I remember once over the summer in college, my father was taking me to the train station or airport or somewhere in Boston while he was on his way to work. My father left for work at around four am. I took it as a personal affront that there were people on the road.

"What are these people doing awake?" I grumbled with a lot of attitude. He laughed and reminded me that commuters in our area had to get up early to get to their jobs. I glared at the cars until I fell asleep.

I can stay up all night. This is no joke. Four am is not an issue for me if I'm still awake, and I'm well past the party days. I believe this is genetic. If my father doesn't have to get up so freaking early (ie weekends), he'll be up all night. When his family stays at my parents' house, his brother, sisters, nieces, and nephews will all stay up until at least two talking around the table. My mother tries to stay up to be a good hostess, but I know it wears her out. I don't call my house past eight pm for fear of waking her up.

When I lived in the middle of nowhere, NC, I was about two hours from my 80-ish year old aunt. I asked my cousin what would be the best time to call her mother. "Never before noon, but she'll be up until two," was her response. My aunt would never be a recipient of an early bird special.

What is the point of all of this? It's my day off, and I woke up at six am. SIX in the morning. Something is obviously miswired. I know I just moved and I want to get a few remaining things at Target to complete my organization, but I promise, I am not excited enough about Target to wake up at six am.

If I can't fall back asleep, I will be quite angry.

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