It’s 6:40 a.m. Way late. In the good old days–like this time last week–I could wake up at 4:30 and get a zillion things done after my first two cups of coffee and before waking the hubs. Now, combining our new comfy mattress with Daylight Savings Time, I can’t get up at 4:30, can barely open my eyes at 5:30, and usually don’t crawl out of bed until 6.
This may sound like an insane complaint to those who believe leaving the sheets before noon is a major accomplishment, but it’s likely those folks are capable of staying up till odd hours of the night. I’m not one of those people. Never have been. Back in college, pulling an “all-nighter” meant studying until ten. Mom still talks about taking our family to the drive-in movies, some Disney thing, and a five-year-old me standing up in the back seat, sound asleep by sunset.
I did manage to stay awake for dates; however, my 11:00 curfew suited me fine.
I don’t like the time change–either this one or the one later in the year. Once I get used to the new schedule, the time changes, and I have to reorganize my way of doing things.
Like this morning. I usually do procrastinate about getting these posts written because I get up so early in the mornings and have plenty of time to do them. Oops. That’s the old way of thinking. Getting up at 6:30 on an IHOP date day, when I wake MSB up at 7, means I have thirty minutes to feed the cats, make a small pot of coffee, down the coffee, and start writing the post. Thirty minutes to figure out what I’m going to write about that’ll entertain my regular readers and wow any new ones well enough to bring them back. Thirty minutes to type, sans error, some cohesive essay that makes sense. Thirty blasted minutes.