The sounds of Monday mornings.
For some reason, I can barely ever drag my ass out of bed in order to get up, get ready and leave for work. It's nearly impossible, which is odd because I don't have to be at work 'til 10, anyway. And on Monday mornings, it should be even easier 'cause I stay over at crankypants, thereby shaving a good hour off my morning commute.
You would think that would mean an extra hour to sleep. But oh no. Crankypants has to wake up at 6AM in order to get ready for work so he can leave at 7:30. This means neener neener, I get to sleep so much longer than he does.. no, wait, there goes sleep - does he really have to close the bathroom door so loudly? Wait, there goes his second alarm, beeping obnoxiously, because he forgot to turn it off. And then does he have to leave the bathroom door open after he finishes, flooding the bedroom with unnecessary light? So I have to haul my ass out of bed to shut the door so I'm in complete blackness again. And don't people work in this town, who the hell plays tennis at 7AM on a Monday? Of course I can hear them whacking the ball around; we sleep with the windows open because otherwise it becomes intolerably stuffy. And just when I think I can get used to the sounds of tennis and trash trucks (because Monday is trash day, after all, more rattling and banging), crankypants comes back in after eating breakfast to get dressed, and that's just more banging drawers and rattling hangers. And then he opens the bathroom door again! More light! ARGH! And then he laughs when I stick my head under the pillow and burrow under the sheets. The indignity of it all! Just Get Out Of Here already because I Want To Go Back To Sleep!
So when I finally get out of bed at 8:30 - it doesn't mean I've had 2-and-a-half extra hours of sleep. Oh no. I've had 150 minutes of tossing and turning, trying to avoid light and noise and trying to get back to that goshdarn good dream I was having which featured my hot hot professor in France. Darn it all to hell. How am I going to have a good Monday if I don't know how that dream was going to end?
You would think that would mean an extra hour to sleep. But oh no. Crankypants has to wake up at 6AM in order to get ready for work so he can leave at 7:30. This means neener neener, I get to sleep so much longer than he does.. no, wait, there goes sleep - does he really have to close the bathroom door so loudly? Wait, there goes his second alarm, beeping obnoxiously, because he forgot to turn it off. And then does he have to leave the bathroom door open after he finishes, flooding the bedroom with unnecessary light? So I have to haul my ass out of bed to shut the door so I'm in complete blackness again. And don't people work in this town, who the hell plays tennis at 7AM on a Monday? Of course I can hear them whacking the ball around; we sleep with the windows open because otherwise it becomes intolerably stuffy. And just when I think I can get used to the sounds of tennis and trash trucks (because Monday is trash day, after all, more rattling and banging), crankypants comes back in after eating breakfast to get dressed, and that's just more banging drawers and rattling hangers. And then he opens the bathroom door again! More light! ARGH! And then he laughs when I stick my head under the pillow and burrow under the sheets. The indignity of it all! Just Get Out Of Here already because I Want To Go Back To Sleep!
So when I finally get out of bed at 8:30 - it doesn't mean I've had 2-and-a-half extra hours of sleep. Oh no. I've had 150 minutes of tossing and turning, trying to avoid light and noise and trying to get back to that goshdarn good dream I was having which featured my hot hot professor in France. Darn it all to hell. How am I going to have a good Monday if I don't know how that dream was going to end?
posted at 11:54
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