I've been a long-time admirer of people who manage to wake up and see the sunrise every morning. These people seem like they've got a good thing going. They get up, eat a good breakfast, work out, and plan their day long before the bleary-eyed most of us finally stop hitting the snooze button. I want to be one of those people, but... I hate mornings. Check that. I love mornings-- I hate getting up!
Yesterday I finally decided to undertake the bold adventure into the morning mist. I read some articles, made a trip to Vitamin Cottage for some herbal sleep aids (I could write an entire post about why I probably won't go back there), and hit the sack at about 9:30 on a Friday night. I slept horribly. My body fought the sleep aid with a fiery vengeance and I kept waking up throughout the night. It was as if the little "Night Man" inside of me kept poking me in the ribs and saying "Hey, what are you doing? It's time to play!"
6:00 am. My alarm went off. I sat up in bed, rubbed my eyes, hit the "off" button instead of that horrible invention we know as "snooze," and dragged myself out of bed. I wasn't necessarily tired anymore, but I was groggy. Night Man launched his final assault,
"It's Saturday, you fool. Why are you up? Go back to bed! If you get up now, you won't be able to stay up and play! Tonight is poker night, remember..."
I almost gave in. Almost-- except I remembered... I dreamed of pancakes.
Here's to Days Just Packed with early mornings to come. And pancakes!