Monday : Just Another Exercise in Futility

I really hate to get out of bed in the morning. When the alarm goes off, I feel inordinately put upon. “What?!? I have to get out of bed? I just got into bed a mere 9 hours ago!”

I immediately begin to run through a listing of excuses for not getting out of bed. Can I hit snooze and enjoy a few more minutes of bliss? If I don’t eat anything, I can sleep an extra 7 minutes. If I lather and rinse, instead of lathering, rinsing and repeating, that buys me almost 9 minutes of shut eye. As a result of my constant bargaining, I have my morning routine down to the bare bones, and frequently walk around with damp hair, starving and generally unmoisturized and looking like hell.

Once I become vertical, you would think the excuses would stop. Well, they don’t. I can just sit here for a minute. Do I feel queasy? Did the Padres win last night? Is that a bone sticking through the skin? Any reason that I can think of that will prevent or delay my getting ready to actually leave the house to go to work is eagerly grasped.

Inevitably, one minute will turn into 13, and I will be late.

I fell asleep in the car this morning on the way to work. Not dozing, not the head-jerk-I’m-awake-thing, but completely and totally asleep. Of course, since I carpool, and this isn’t my week to drive, it wasn’t the tragedy that it would have been last week. One minute I was chatting desultorily about Hurricane Ernesto, and the next minute, I was at the office. Since my carpool buddy is human and subject to the laws of the space-time continuum, I am pretty sure that more than a minute elapsed. She assured me that I wasn’t snoring.