Daysleeper

I can’t say I’m really a fan of perky people at any time of the day, but morning is the worst by far. Through the years, I’ve had coworkers who bound in like giant Labrador retrievers, eager to start their day, and excited that look! We have AIR! And computers! And WORK to do! The possibilities are endless! Meanwhile, I’m shuffling in wearing mismatched socks, jacket and shirt askew and maybe a hair or two standing on end from a last-minute hair product spritz gone awry. Oh, and I’m usually wishing that they would just shut up and die already.

I confess, the hatred is simply a thin veil over intense jealousy. What special gift did these people get that they can bound out of bed in the morning, leaving the safe confines of their snuggly little cocoons? They get up, they shower, and they face the day without fear that the best part of the day was still in that bed.

I’ll never forget the first time I got to witness a Morning Person first-hand. It was Erica of PinkMob fame – a real-life close friend of mine, regular commenter and all-around awesome person who is, unfortunately, a morning person. But I love her anyway, and she gave me a valuable glimpse into morning people behavior. We were sharing a hotel room during a weeknight after getting stranded in the snow (after many, many drinks at a work function when our boss drunkenly dumped us into a room at the Seaport) and the next morning, I witnessed a scene unlike anything I’d ever experienced. She woke up and got out of her bed within the same minute, got ready and had her hat and fucking MITTENS on before I’d even put a foot on the ground and murmered, “d-d-do yooou h-h-have t-t-toothpaste?” I’d like to point out that I was wearing a cheap hotel robe for pajamas, and there was likely a boob or god forbid a vagina poking out from the sheets (thank God for two queen beds). I’m sorry, Erica. So, so sorry. Anyway, there she was, all be-mitted and be-hatted staring at me, “Oh! I packed it. Sure.”

She produced it in 2.2 seconds and smiled, chatting easily about the day ahead. It couldn’t have been later than 7 a.m. I was in awe.

I can’t get out of bed. Most mornings I lay there like an anesthetized pickle, my arms splayed out like starfish, ignoring the screams from the cat and the persistent face rubs that smear catspit on my cheeks and urge me to rise, because there is breakfast! Breakfast that is still in the can that needs to be consumed! LIKE NOW! MrowmrowNOW! Through the process of screaming and wandering, he’s awakened Sunny, and she’s whimpering because there is about to be a bladder explosion of monstrous canine proportions and I? Am still in bed, ignoring them both and just wishing that I’d gotten a goddamn goldfish instead. But the truth is, it’s 8:15 a.m. and I’m late for work. Little fuckers.

I’m not lazy. I’m an evening person with a fucked-up circadian rhythm, and life isn’t built for me. I come alive around noon, and am essentially useless prior to that. My peak working hours are between 4 and 8 p.m., which means that 90% of work (or life, for that matter) schedules are not built for people like me – I can’t do a night shift, as I crash by 1 a.m., and I can’t do a morning shift, because I can’t sleep UNTIL 1 a.m. Fortunately, I have a flexible job now that enables me to work at night if I wish and live like a real person – I work more, probably, than I ever did before, but at least it’s on my own timeframe.

In normal worlds, you are generally expected to be at work by a certain time, a feat I rarely accomplished. When I did, people would exclaim, “Wow, you sure got here early!” in a stupidly simple tone that usually made me want to gouge their eyeballs out with pointy objects, like maybe a box cutter or a grapefruit spoon.

No one understands. And God forbid you sleep late. My father-in-law is a morning person. He and his wife get up at 5 a.m. every day, when it’s still dark out, and at an hour that not too long ago was an acceptable bedtime for Adam and me. He calls us on the weekends, usually between 7 and 8 a.m., to see if Adam wants to play golf, or if we want to have dinner that night. His messages are usually accusatory, “God, don’t tell me you two are still asleep!” What he – and most morning people – fails to recognize is that when he was going to bed, I was still eating dinner. We’re not lazy and sleeping oh, 15 hours of the day, we’re just sleeping our normal sleeps at different times than you are. Okay? OKAY?!

This frustrating fact is also 99% of the reason I look like a vagabond by the time I get to work. I generally like to get there around 9:30 a.m., so as not to arouse any suspicions about where in the Christ I was all morning (usually with Gary Oldman in the Carribean somewhere, if you must know). This means if I rise at my usual 8:15 a.m. , I have exactly four minutes to get ready after walking the dog, feeding the furries and making a pot of coffee so that I can drive to work without killing someone. This schedule leaves little time for anything, such as showering, which means I have to shower at night so as not to become hairy moldy beast. This then perks me right up and keeps me up until 1:30 a.m. laying there praying for a piece of the ceiling to fall off and knock me the fuck out.

And the vicious cycle continues. I dream of changing this behavior like people dream of winning the lottery. I have visions of all the things I could accomplish before work – there are gyms to go to! Dishwashers to unload! Dogs to walk more than 30 seconds! Instead, it’s 10 p.m. and I still haven’t accomplished half of the things I want to get done before tomorrow. And before you know it, it’ll be 1:30 a.m.

Fucker.

*REM

39 comments July 20th, 2006