A Reason To Get Up in the Morning

I rolled out of bed at 1 p.m. today. I didn’t have to work, so why get up? I remember liking to get up … I think. As a kid, I wouldn’t even sleep on Christmas Eve since I couldn’t wait for Christmas Day to start. The same thing on my birthday. When I was a smoker, I also couldn’t wait to start my day. I loved getting up at 6 or 7 a.m. and having my first cigarette and my first cup of coffee. I spent hours drinking coffee and smoking before I went to work. That wasn’t necessarily a productive way to spend my time but at least I was up. Put that way, maybe I would have been better off staying in bed. The only reason I got up today was because my hair hurt. It must have gotten bent while I was lying on it. I was also tired of dreaming about Greg Kinnear who was trying to pawn his 2D dog off on me. He swore that once it drank water, it would rehydrate and become a 3D dog. He never explained why I should take his dog, regardless of whether it was two- or three-dimensional. 

Some people get up so they can eat. A friend once told me that there are two types of people: those who live to eat and those who eat to live. (She didn’t even consider those who live to drink or drink to live, and I didn’t bring it up.) Since I fall into the latter eating category, and truly prefer to eat later in the day, food is not going to get me out of bed. Being a freelance copy editor offers me a very flexible schedule so I don’t usually have to rise early to get to work. I often work from home, so I can work from whenever I get up until I’m finished.

Another friend, a morning-lover, told me that I was in a depression and should seek help. While she might be right, why is preferring the night to the day a sickness in and of itself? I still get everything done–well, the bare minimum when it comes to housework, and my dog doesn’t get walked enough, and I always find a reason not to exercise, but I think those things would remain constant even if I got up with the birds.

Speaking of birds, we all know that the early bird gets the worm. But what about the raccoon? He wouldn’t accomplish much, stumbling around in the daytime.  And any owl foolish enough to wake with the robins would soon be crying, “What?” instead of “Who?”

I realize that, aside from my night preference, I need to develop a passion for something that will motivate me to get moving. A steady 9 to 5 job would probably fit the bill, but at what cost? If I can make the same amount of money not working 9 to 5, I will always choose that route. I sometimes think about hiring a personal ass kicker–someone who would show up at 7 every morning, drag me out of bed, make me exercise, put me in the car, and send me off to work. I just know we’d come to blows on about the second day, though.

I had a revelation recently, albeit by accident. My car alarm was pealing one morning, so I went out to turn it off and the dog ran out the door and around the block. Dressed in leopard-print pajamas and Fuggs (fake Uggs), I ran around the neighborhood, always a half-block behind the dog, cursing up a storm. When the dog and I finally fell into the front door, I felt an unfamiliar invigoration. I actually wanted to do something, to accomplish something. So, I took a nap.

Twilight…Zone

It is officially hot. I know this because my wicker desk smells like cat urine. I bought the desk several years ago at a thrift shop and I cleaned it and de-cat-haired it, but the smell lingers on. The odor only appears when it’s hot outside. Since I wait all year for the warm months, I welcome the smell as a harbinger of nice weather. This might sound odd, but odd is the new black for my family, especially for my husband, Frank. He must exude pheromones that attract weird people and strange circumstances. Frank takes the train into Manhattan most afternoons for work. Since he comes home on the 12:30 a.m. or 1:30 a.m. train, he encounters his share of drunks, especially on weekends. One night, he was sitting on the train and a young woman sat next to him. He was eating a pretzel that he had just bought and the woman asked him if she could have the bag that the pretzel came in. He handed it to her and she vomited in it. Then she asked him if he wanted it back.

Another time, in the dead of winter, he was in an over-heated car full of drunken concert-goers on their way home. The drunks were hooting and hollering, the car was stiflingly hot, and a woman got on with a tiny little dog. Once the woman was seated, she released the dog from his leash so that he could run up and down the aisle. Not only did he run, but he marked his territory throughout the hot car. Meanwhile, oblivious to the smell, the heat, the dog’s antics, and everyone around them, a young couple was coupling in the front seat.

 The best story  involved Eartha Kitt. Frank saw her get on the train, so he approached her and said, “We have something in common, Ms. Kitt…our birthday!” She stared at him, snapped, “Shut up, you damn fool,” and strode away. For some reason, Frank thought this was hilarious. Okay, I do, too. Must be the cat urine.