Fishing in the Morning

October 16th, 2006

I got up at 6 this morning as part of my new-fangled effort to eek more hours out of the day, and all I have to say is really, the hell? I mean, don’t get me wrong, I was the picture of productivity from nearly the second my feet hit the floor, and holy hannah was I proud and also, smug. Very, very smug. I mean, I was on fire – fire, I tell you! I was making coffee and walking the dog and emptying the goddamn DISHWASHER, for chrissake, and for the love of God, my legs were shaved by 7 a.m. By 7:02, I was rip roaring to go, even if the dog was staring at me with a look of disdain like, DUDE, it’s DARK OUT you crazy bitch, now back off and let me bury my head in this pillow and maybe lick my girlparts, mmkay?

I will acknowledge that there was a minor detour when my iPod decided to, I don’t know, not work, and freeze while it was charging and create this entire panic panic PANIC situation that involved hard resets, soft resets and maybe some banging against the wall as quietly as possible so as not to disturb the slumbering husband. However, it wasn’t a permanent impediment, for I was able to go up and out, baby, UP AND OUT by 7:30 a.m.

And holy, hell it was bloody magical! MAGICAL. I was productive, I was organized, I was better than I’ve ever been, because my God, the stunningly beautiful silence of an empty office is positively transformational. At the rate I was going, I was prepared to be finished with my entire workday by noon, and then go to Target and Best Buy for some heavy-duty shopping with my wild and free afternoon, and maybe even some Starbucks. I had dreams. Big dreams. Big, wide-awake dreams that involved running 11 miles before 7 a.m. and writing my book in the afternoons while I drank wine spritzers on the lanai because I’d finished my real work by noon every day.

But, as with all things pipe-dreamy: No. Just no. This marvelously excited energy had completely burned off by noon, and I found myself so completely out of steam that I caught myself sitting in the office bathroom for way longer than is healthy, my eyes half closed as I cradled my aching, aching head in my hands and thought seriously about crying for reasons I still can’t quite identify. And of course, I had to jerk myself awake because again, I’m in the single-room unisex bathroom mere steps from my coworkers, and if I’d started snoring, shit would go down. And thus ended any consideration that I can hack the morning thing, because as I’ve learned, it’s not the mornings that kill you, it’s the afterfuckingnoons.

And as of this minute, I mostly want to cry, I’m so tired, and I’m just not convinced it’s worth it. Is it because I’m supposed to be in bed right now? Is that it? Is it that 9 p.m. is your limit, if you want to get up early, because I am much more comfortable with 12:30 a.m., and what’s the point in getting up early if you’re catatonic by 1 p.m.? What? WHAT?

And what this means is right now I am done, just completely and utterly fork-in-my-eye done. And you parents and morning people are about to go all smug on me, aren’t you, about how much free time I have, and how lucky I am to be able to consider such things, right? I know. I know you’re right! You’re right! I am lucky and ungrateful and completely and horribly SELFISH, and I am just too old to be a night person, even though we’ve gone over this. And I know there will be some sort of cosmic comeuppance in the not-so-distant future, but honestly, I am far too tired and grumpy to really care.

*Dar Williams and Bela Fleck. And I assure you, there was no fishing this morning.

**I feel like an asshole writing this, but this content is copyright 2006 Jonniker. Available in its entirety at jonniker.com. If you aren’t reading this through your news aggregator that you set up, and instead are somewhere like, I don’t know, Bitacle.org? That means they are profiting from my stuff without my permission, and by association, you’re supporting thievery, and I don’t mean Thievery Corporation. Please don’t steal.

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