In which I hate — with a passion incandescent — morning, morning people, and everything having to do with either. (Behold my bitchiness unfettered!)
Bread invited me to go to bed with him at about ten last night. Since I’m a grown woman and dislike being put to bed like a child, I said I’d be there in a bit. When I felt like it.
I require a certain amount of space. Private, personal, alone space, and I haven’t been alone for weeks. He’s always there and I haven’t been home by myself in too long. And since I know it’s gonna be far worse in Indiana, I decided to hang out alone for a bit. I stayed up until twelve, alone, by myself. Then I went to bed, where Bread was hogging the sheets and wouldn’t get out of the middle of the damned bed and was twitching and snoring. The third time he woke me up, I moved to the office daybed and crashed out in peace.
This morning, a good fifteen minutes before my alarm went off, Bread was at me to get up, get a move on, let’s get going. All bright-eyed and bushy-tailed and loud and fucking disgustingly, irritatingly cheerful.
God save me from morning people. Why can’t I have a somber “Get up, it’s 7:45”? Why the bouncing and cheeriness and loudness?
He’s in pre-trip mode, all excited like we’re going on vacation. Which we’re not. We’re going to work. Sales, for chrissake. This is so not a vacation.
He just took away 15 minutes of sleep from me, and naturally I was grouchy and grumpy and rude and he knows better. I told him to fuck off and go away.
Then he had the nerve to get all up in my shit. “This isn’t how you’re going to be in Indianapolis, is it? Because this shit isn’t gonna fly! You’ll have to get up early and we’ll be working long hours and–”
Blah motherfucking patronizing blah.
The man is five years younger than I am, and he had the nerve to fucking stand there and lecture me about getting up like he was my father. In other words, I was awake less than two whole minutes before I was consumed with a fiery rage so bright I had to close my eyes and actually think about breathing. If he’d just told me what time it was and left the room, I could have waited for my alarm to go off, pressed snooze once, and gotten up. Like a normal goddamned night person. But no, it went like this:
He quit talking and left the room. Then he came back a couple minutes later. “Oh come on, Michelle! Get up! We have to drop my truck off at Haney’s then go to borrow my mom’s then I have to meet Steve for coffee and –”
And my ALARM hadn’t even GONE OFF YET. There was no reason for anyone to be saying anything to me yet. My day HAD NOT YET STARTED.
“Shut up,” I said. “I am lying here, breathing, waiting until I can get up without saying something to you that I will always regret. Go away, for the love of God. I’ll get up in a minute. I swear.” Aren’t I good? I did not say, GET THE FUCKING HELL AWAY FROM ME YOU FREAKISH MORNING PERSON! I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU!
He made some grumpy well-you’re-a-fucking-bitch noise and left the doorway, but he came back 45 seconds later! Which part of GET AWAY FROM ME BECAUSE I’M INCREDIBLY MAD confused him? I was so mad I could just barely deal, but then he had to open his mouth and start fucking talking again. “Can I just say something while you lie there all pissed off?” he said.
Oh God, no. Please. Just go the fuck away. Let me get up, get showered. I hate you so much right now I’m about to pop an artery! Fuck the hell off, man!
“Yes,” I said, in the sweetest voice I have. “Please do.” It was either that or murder him with my bare hands, and he’s big.
“I’m leaving at 8:30, no matter what!”
“Fine. Thank you. I understand.” Just get the fuck away from me before we get a fucking divorce, you moron!
He left the room and I breathed and said my mantra in my head. When my heart rate was normal and my skin was no longer hot, I got up and took a shower. Then I got dressed. I collected the items I needed for the day.
I was standing by the door ready to go at fucking 8:29 A-fucking-M.
Yes, I’m an impossible bitch in the morning. I know that. He knows that. He also knows that nagging me, cornering me, bitching at me, and worst of all, lecturing me before I’ve had coffee? Is a Bad Idea, and he did it anyway.
And I? am a fucking saint. I held my tongue and was in the truck at 8:30 like he wanted.
I hate being apoplectic before coffee. Seriously. It’s just not healthy.
In other news, I got our new laptop via DHL, so that cheered me right up!
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I am a morning person. Drives Justin insane. I have learned to let him sleep and not share my cheerfulness. If I wake up early, especially on the weekends, I’ll go have a small breakfast, coffee and a newspaper. By the time I’m through, Justin is usually ready for my caffeine enhanced, bubbly, morning personality.
There are boundaries. I have learned this lesson because I don’t want a “divorce”.
Did I mention that I’m adorably happy in the mornings?!
Yeah, Justin doesn’t care either.
Justin’s my kinda man. ZzzzZzzzzz… 😉 And just so you know, nothing is adorably happy in the mornings. Not even baby seals snuggling with baby chicks, bunnies, puppies, and roly-poly babies. NOTHING. -m
I’m a total morning person. My body pretty much won’t even sleep past 7am.
Wow. I’m sorry. -m
I hope you think it’s okay for me to print out and shrink down this post so it fits on the back of oh, say, a business card. That way whenever anyone ever asks me why I’m single (and it happens a lot) I can just smile and slide them the card…. and then punch them in the twat or tweak their nut sack. Cheers!
I love you. I love you. I love you. Be my girlfriend. We’ll read magazines, do pedicures, drink cocktails, and bitch about morning people. Any time after twelve. -m
I’m not a morning person, but I play one on tv shows in my mind.
You’re a mental TV star? SO AM I!!!! I’m also a mental rock star, movie star, and dude magnet! -m
1. mornings shouldn’t start before noon.
2. no one in our house is a morning person…even when boy was a baby he’d demand his 7 am bottle and go back to sleep until 11.
3. morning people who wake me without a coffee in their hands deserve to die slow and painful deaths, or at least to listen to me sing to them at midnight when they’re trying to sleep.
4. and bread’s still alive. you are a saint, indeed! 🙂
1. YOU are SO right. 2. Thank God. 3. YOU are SO right. 4. YOU are SO right.
We could totally live together. -m
I used to think that Anthony wasn’t a morning person, but then I realized he just sleeps fifteen hours in a row. Huh.
New laptop! w00t!
Fifteen hours in a row is normal! Isn’t it? What are you trying to say? (Plus, penis people + morning wood = morning people. Ish.) 😉 -m
Update, 6:38 pm: We’re sitting in the 2nd Street Coffee House parking lot in the big black truck waiting for a seven o’clock meeting at the company. Truck is in the back seat with the hip laptop I picked out for him. I’ve just typed his Office 2003 code in for him so he can use MS Word. Bread’s sitting in the driver’s seat with our new laptop reading this entry.
HE LAUGHED OUT LOUD THREE TIMES. My God but it’s gratifying when he reads my posts and laughs! Makes my fucking day. (I think some people don’t understand how funny I am. Amazing, I know, but true. Because I? Am funny as fuck.)
El Rey will come in and start talking to me about some blog paranoia du jour regarding my blog or work, and I get so pissed. I’m not even awake yet, and you’re waking me up with this shit???
After 15 years, you’d think he’d know. I feel ya, sister.
Paranoia du jour? In the morning?! WTF! -m
I got to work a 9:28 this morning. I’m supposed to be here at 9:00. This is becoming more common, though I know I’m just acting out my rage at my boss in a passive-aggressive manner (and I should have majored in something other than Psychology), and really only hurting myself. I’ve gotten really good at lying about why I couldn’t get up, but I think my co-workers have started aping me so now we all pretend like it doesn’t happen. Usually I’m between 5 and 10 mins late.
I am just not a morning person. My last bf was, powered by a jug of coffee. I liked not being cuddled up to first thing in the morning, and he usually left me alone. Usually… Do not wake the sleeping Carl, it will only end badly.
Oh, yeah, I don’t like morning cuddling either. -m