I don’t do mornings. If I’m forced to do them, I don’t do them well. I find it particularly difficult in the cooler months of the year when it’s darker for longer. I just think that if the sun hasn’t bothered to get up yet, then why should I.
I’ve always been this way, even as a child. For example, my mother would have to wake me up on Christmas Day because I was keeping the family waiting to open the presents. The first couple of classes at school were always a bit of a foggy blur. I was often accused of day-dreaming. I can guarantee that if it was in the afternoon, they were probably right, but if it was in the morning it was more likely that I hadn’t yet fully woken up.
Things improved by my late teens because I finally began drinking coffee. God bless the caffeine. However, my natural biorhythm still prefers to wake at a “sensible” hour and go to bed past the witching hour. If I lived in a small village in deepest darkest somewhere where there’s jungle and stuff, I’d be the one keeping watch out for prowling animals and marauding neighbours while the rest of the village slept. I’d also be the one, in the morning, throwing things at noisy children and threatening to strangle the rooster.
School, university and work forced me to drag myself out of bed a couple of hours before my brain had fully stirred. Then I had children. I foolishly thought that, now that I wasn’t “working”, I could choose my own schedule. But, no…the kids expected me to feed them in the morning! This was solved when my eldest turned 4 and could manage to give himself, and his little sister, cereal for breakfast. He asked if it would be okay for him to do this rather than wait for me to wake up. I didn’t see why not; there was no electricity or knives involved.
Then I went back to work. Then I went back to study. I did my best to choose things on the timetable that started later in the morning but it wasn’t always possible. Now, at last, I work at home. Sometimes I do it in my nightie and dressing gown. But, whatever the state of dress or undress you can guarantee it won’t be before 9am in the morning. Sometimes it’s later…sometimes much later.
I still need the caffeine to kick-start the grey matter. Unfortunately the drug regime I’m on seems to have messed with my taste buds and I can no longer stand the taste of coffee. Thank the Lord for the Chinese or Indians or whoever it was who discovered tea! And, in spite of the black tea hitting the necessary spark plugs I still take a while to get going. On the other hand, I’ve often sat tap tapping away at 10pm, or even 2am, and not felt the teeniest bit tired. I tell you, if marauding animals or prowling neighbours attack the place me and the Wonder Dog will be ready.
I tell you all this so you’ll understand the intellectual challenge I face every Saturday, writing this blog in the morning. I do this for you, dear reader. (No, I haven’t thought of doing it at a different time. This is the available time slot, darn it!) Oh the things I do for my public.