Most people think that I’m a morning person because I tend to get up really early.
I am. Sorta. But I’m not a morning morning person. Let me explain.
In high school and college, I wasn’t a morning person at all. My Mom had to do everything short of sending in a marching band to get me to wake up.
Oh, and she did. Not the marching band part, but everything just short of it.
First, she’d be nice. She would open my bedroom door, and say, “Michele. It’s time to get up.”
Well, of course, I was ignoring that. Back to snoozeland.
And this was all after my alarm had already gone off, and I had turned it off.
Next, she would come in, turn on my overhead light, and say a little more loudly, “C’mon, Michele. You need to get up!”
I was the Queen of ignoring anyone or anything who was trying to get me out of my comfortable bed. Once again, I went back to sleep—after pulling the covers over my head to block out some of the light, of course.
The final thing she would do is that one that got me up—primarily because it drove me absolutely crazy and made me want to scream.
She would come in, as the door was already open. Didn’t need to put on the light; she had done that. But she would start to sing at the top of her lungs, “It’s time to get up! It’s time to get up! It’s time to get up in the morning!!!” Then she would start singing what my old Raggedy Ann and Andy clock used to say to me as a kid when those little jerks tried to wake me up.
“We were sent to wake you. So here we are to say: Please get up, brush your teeth, and start your happy day!”
How could my day be happy when two little ragdolls were bugging the crap out of me to wake up? Then brush my teeth?
It was bad enough when they did it, but my Mom had to join in?
And when the batteries in the clock were dying, Mom would imitate how their voices began to drag and sound more like something out the The Exorcist rather than Happy Dream Land.
When I started my first real job, which was in public relations, I learned to somehow become a morning person. But like I said earlier, I’ve never been a morning morning person. What do I mean?
Well, my husband is a morning morning person. He could open his eyes, and if there were a refrigerator right next to the bed, he could wake up, sit up, open the door, and start eating.
That is soooooo not me.
I get up. Sure, I can wash my face and brush my teeth. I stumble into my home office and begin checking social media. By the time I’m ready to actually work, I’m awake.
But if I get up and go downstairs, and Brad has already been awake for a while, chaos ensues.
Him: Hey, you’re awake! What do you want for breakfast? What do you want to do today? Did you see the latest in the news?
Me: …
Him (without stopping his previous seemingly stream-of-consciousness-style of talking to me): The dogs have already eaten and gone out. Did you get the Wordle? Do you want pancakes? I could go for pancakes?
By this time, I have regained the ability to speak, and I usually am holding my head when I say this: For the love of all that’s holy, please just stop talking!!!
Him: Oh okay. You’re not awake yet. Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha…Have you decided if you want pancakes?
Because I dearly love my husband—and I’m not totally awake during this—I haven’t ever thrown anything at him. But I’ve thought about it.
I just need a little time. Just 10 minutes. Just a little bit to clear my head and fully wake up.
And I don’t drink coffee or any type of caffeine in the morning either. But that’s a whole other column.
Michele “Wojo” Wojciechowski, when she’s not yelling at everyone in the world to shut up until she’s more awake, writes “Wojo’s World®” from Baltimore.
She’s also the author of the award-winning book Next Time I Move, They’ll Carry Me Out in a Box. You can connect with Wojo on Facebook or on Twitter.
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