No, I’m not. I wake up in increments, all of which are grumpy, sullen, wordless ones.
I stumble a lot. My eyes burn, are heavy, are dull and bleary. I do not wake for each day with a sense of possibility and while I don’t much like that part of myself, it is the truth.
When I was a teacher, I had to be ON at 8:00 each morning. No easing into a day, no browsing email and pouring coffee and slowly reaching and waking to the midmorning hours of productivity and happiness.
I still feel sorry for any student of mine that had my English class for first period. I might actually feel sorry for anyone who had my English class but that’s another blog post for the drafts file.
I wish I could claim mornings as mine. I know that there’s at least one good unused hour before the kids wake that I could use to sit and sip and open up my cranky eyes. Some silence sounds nice in the cacophony of my toddler days.
But there’s the getting up for that hour. Maybe I’ll just let it sound nice, like a dream that will never be so it rests there, an iridescent bubble above my head: perfect, untouched.
I’m married to a man who opens his eyes and is AWAKE and READY and FULL OF PLANS. I still love him, but it might be questioned at 6:15 in the morning as I roll over, crack a bleary eye only to be greeted with “Why don’t you go run, go write, go go go go.” It’s a good thing I’m unarmed. It’s a good thing he’s a forgiving man.
The thing is, I don’t know what sort of “person” I am. What does this mean? When do I feel most productive? Most awake? Most happy?
I’m no night owl, the hours from 1-4 am are cold haunted ones. So I”m midday? Is there a person for midday? It’s me, I guess: sandwiched between both mornings—beating back fatigue, looking for inspiration and a cup of coffee that will deliver wakefulness and gratitude with no end in sight.