What’s that smell? It’s called morning…


What?  I can’t understand you.  You’re grumbling. Not a morning person, you say?  Blasphemy!  I love mornings.  Don’t get me wrong, I’m not the jump out of bed, happy as a clam morning person.  I have fantasies about bashing those obnoxious nitwits in the face with a baseball if they dare to breathe my air.  No,  I’m more of the roll out of bed, where’s my coffee, give me an hour of silence before you speak to me kind of morning person.  Not your definition of a morning person?  Meh.  It’s mine.

I’m always the first one up in my house, usually by 5 or so.  Never have been any good at that whole sleeping thing.  On a bad night I might average 3 or 4 hours of uninterrupted sleep, on a good night 6 tops.  Don’t feel sorry for me, though.  I’m used it.  It’s one of those things in life that you just learn to accept – sort of like accepting that as soon as your husband falls asleep (which will be 2.5 seconds after he lays down) he will roll your way and start snoring.  It’s been the same night after night for the last 17 years.  It’s not going to change.  You just accept that smothering him in his sleep will get you nowhere but jail.  And then who comes out the winner there?  Him.  Who needs that?

For me, early morning is a time to collect my thoughts, plan my day and savor the coffee from the pot that brews at precisely 4:45 every morning via a preset timer.  Top ten inventions of all time, in my book, and yet another reason not to smother my husband.  He makes some damn good coffee.  I wish I could say that I sip from my favorite mug while typing feverishly away at my morning pages but alas, I do not.  Writing first thing in the morning is beyond even my capabilities.   A complete failure on my part, I know, but to get up enough energy to string a few hundred words together before the coffee has time to do its magic is just plain craziness.  Instead, while I await the collection of my thoughts, I engage is more mundane activities.  Perhaps I will read a book from the stack that covers my nightstand and has started to bleed onto the floor.  More likely though, I will surf the internet, troll Facebook and play some stupid, mindless game while listening to Morning Joe or the NBC 5 morning crew repeatedly report the same stories on the half hour with weather on the fives.

Not impressed with the morning activities of a self-proclaimed morning person yet?  Well, sometimes on particularly nice mornings when I don’t have to be anywhere, I will venture out my backdoor – in my pjs, cup in hand.  When was the last time you step outside just as the sun was coming up over the horizon?  It is an awesome sight to behold as thin fingers of light peel away the darkness.  Stars and planets slip from view and the moon slowly makes its descent giving way to a new day.  All right before your eyes.   Now take a deep breath.  What do you smell?  Dirt? Grass still wet from last night’s rain?  The sweet scent of roses drifting in on a gentle breeze?  An aroma as alluring as fresh-baked bread.  Listen.  Hear the Mourning Doves cooing and calling to each other, the munch of grass as the rabbits come out for a bit of breakfast, a lawn mower – uh oh.

So, yes, I am a morning person and with all these things to see, hear and smell right outside your bedroom window, I can’t begin to fathom why you are wasting your time sleeping.  Sleep is overrated.  You can sleep when your dead.  Get up, grab a cup of joe and join me on the patio. 

Just do me a favor – don’t spoil the mood by speaking to me.  I’d hate to have to bash you in the face with my baseball bat.  Tends to start the day out on the wrong foot.

Advertisements

Author: Peggy Isaacs

This is me. Is that you?

1 thought on “What’s that smell? It’s called morning…”

Leave me a comment. I'd love to hear what you think.

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s