It’s hopeless to look fashionable when you hate mornings as much as I do.
I’ve never woken up feeling rejuvenated or even remotely joyful. My mom used to joke that I have no internal alarm clock. Like some twisted Newton’s Law of Sleep: If I am at rest, I will stay at rest unless acted upon by some outside force. I know you won’t believe me, but I promise after New Year’s 2000, I slept until late Jan. 3.
I am a night-showerer. Back in the day of poufy bangs, I used to do my hair before bed and sleep in a night cap. Everything I do is to maximize the amount of time I can hit snooze in the morning.
And even then, while lying there despising every ounce of sunlight dripping through my blinds, I come up with brilliant ways to compress my morning routine: I can do my mascara in the car (even though most eye injuries are wand-related). Who needs breakfast? Ponytails are cute. My dog can hold it nine more hours while I’m at work; he already held it through the night. Heck, I can hold it, too.
As a little girl, I used to sleep in the clothes I wanted to wear the next day. And by “little girl,” I mean intermittently throughout college. And maybe on Tuesday.
My mom did uncover one magic way to crack my eyelids without receiving my fist to her jaw. She would peek through my bedroom door and remind me of my new jelly shoes or banana clip (we’re back in the day, here, folks), and I would feel a flicker of excitement.
Almost enough to drag me out of bed. Almost.
Photo by Flickr user ParanoidMonk.
I’ve never woken up feeling rejuvenated or even remotely joyful. My mom used to joke that I have no internal alarm clock. Like some twisted Newton’s Law of Sleep: If I am at rest, I will stay at rest unless acted upon by some outside force. I know you won’t believe me, but I promise after New Year’s 2000, I slept until late Jan. 3.
I am a night-showerer. Back in the day of poufy bangs, I used to do my hair before bed and sleep in a night cap. Everything I do is to maximize the amount of time I can hit snooze in the morning.
And even then, while lying there despising every ounce of sunlight dripping through my blinds, I come up with brilliant ways to compress my morning routine: I can do my mascara in the car (even though most eye injuries are wand-related). Who needs breakfast? Ponytails are cute. My dog can hold it nine more hours while I’m at work; he already held it through the night. Heck, I can hold it, too.
As a little girl, I used to sleep in the clothes I wanted to wear the next day. And by “little girl,” I mean intermittently throughout college. And maybe on Tuesday.
My mom did uncover one magic way to crack my eyelids without receiving my fist to her jaw. She would peek through my bedroom door and remind me of my new jelly shoes or banana clip (we’re back in the day, here, folks), and I would feel a flicker of excitement.
Almost enough to drag me out of bed. Almost.
Photo by Flickr user ParanoidMonk.
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