I’m not a morning person. Never have been, even as a child. My poor mother could never get me to bed at night; and she could never get me up in the morning. She tried everything.
She bought me an alarm clock that was so loud, you could have heard it down the street. I’d shut it off and go back to sleep. She’d stand in the doorway to my room, every fifteen minutes, and yell for me to get up. I’d ask her to give me just a few more minutes. She’d send the dog into my room so he’d bark and jump on my bed; and jump all over me. I didn’t care.
The only thing that ever worked, was when she literally froze me out of the room. She’d open the windows as far as they’d go. And then she’d pull the sheet and blankets off me. But of course, that only worked in the winter.
Once I’d moved out of my parents’ house, I had no one to force me out of bed. So I had to devise my own solutions. Crazy as this sounds, to this day, I set my watch fifteen minutes ahead. So when it’s really 7:00 a.m., my watch says it’s 7:15. Then I set my alarm fifteen minutes early, let’s say for 6:45. But it’s really 6:30. And, of course, I set the alarm to ring again, just in case I go back to sleep. So I fool myself into thinking I’m late.
This gives me a half a half hour of coming-to-terms-with-the-world time. Taking-my-sweet-time, time. Ridiculous, I know, but it works. Even after all these years. Continue reading