Rushing.

Standard

I am not one of those people who can wake up, hop into the shower, grab toast and coffee on the way out of the house, and have a great day. I have tried this dozens of times in my life and it always results in murder misanthropy.

It’s a curse of modern life to always be rushing and mornings are generally the only time I have to myself without interruptions from inconveniences like work* and other people. It also gives me time to write this cursed blog, actually enjoy my breakfast and coffee (this is very important), and allows me time to ground my day in something less chaotic than a blur of rushing around like a headless chicken.**

That having been said, needing about 90 minutes between first peeking out at daylight (if I’m lucky) and leaving the house really is a huge chunk of wasted time that means, if I sleep in a bit, my work day starts even later than usual (I don’t have to be in until 11am, but I’d rather start earlier). It also means that if I have to be at work at 8, I have to be up before 6, because the 90 minutes turns into about two hours when I’m groggy.

Worse, if I ever get married (or equivalent) or have actual human children, I will have to learn to live without this bonus, empty time. (‘Go away! Mommy’s staring at the wall for 20 minutes! LET HER HAVE HER LUXURIES.’)

This morning, I’m going to cut that down a bit. Not because I’m ready to let go of my selfish me time, but because I turned off my alarm instead of hitting snooze this morning and only got out of bed at 8:45, and I have to go in to the bookkeeper. I will try not to bite her head off.

In the meantime, look at some otters chasing a butterfly.

* I say I am not interrupted by work, but I always check my work email before I leave so I can assess problems/how to deal with The Crazy during my commute. This is about as professional I get, sadly.

** Of course I do this on bad self-esteem days, causing hurricanes of unflattering clothes. That’s normal, right?

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