December 11, 2001
a.m. dawns a lot harder and darker and colder in reality, some
mornings, than it does in theory.
theory, it goes something like this:
wake up precisely at 5:35 a.m., gently drawn from slumber by the
smell of freshly-brewed Jingle Java, wafting into the bedroom from the kitchen. (The Krups
ProAroma Programmable Coffeemaker: our favorite wedding gift ... and
quite possibly the greatest invention of the 20th Century.)
and excited about the busy work day ahead, you spring from bed and plug
in the electric hairsetter, then wander out to the kitchen to pour a
cup of coffee and sit down in front of the computer, where you spend
the next twenty-five minutes answering your overnight e-mail ...
catching up on other Internet journals ... outlining your journal entry
for the day. This little bit of quiet solitary *you* time in front of
the computer is a great way to start the morning: it centers you
emotionally for the rest of the day, it starts the creative
flowing and it helps you stay caught up on your personal
correspondence, so that people don't start complaining about you on
other message forums.
fact: you enjoy your morning computer time so much, you're thinking
about setting the alarm back another half an hour,
the theory, anyway.
reality ... it's like being forcibly sucked out of the cocoon about an
hour before metamorphosis is scheduled to kick in.
really doesn't matter how much preparation I've put in the night
before, either ... or how early I went to bed, or how well I slept, or
whether or not I'm climbing out from under an Alka Seltzer Plus
hangover. 5:35 a.m. is still a mostly-miserable way
to start the day sometimes, especially in the dead of winter.
on a Tuesday in the dead of winter.
on THIS Tuesday in the dead of winter.
reasons I can't quite put my finger on, getting out of bed this morning
feels about a bazillion times harder and darker and colder than usual.
I sit on the edge of the bed at 5:35 a.m., bleary-eyed and shivering,
trying to figure out what's wrong. What's so different about this
morning? The apartment is a whole lot chillier than usual --
always cold in the morning, but usually that doesn't bother me: I run
hot as a corndog under a heatlamp, remember? -- but this
morning it's as frigid as a
meat locker in here. There is no movement from the other side of the
bed: David is coma-deep in R.E.M. sleep, eyelids twitching busily.
Upstairs Neighbor Guy is uncharacteristically quiet, too: there is none
of the usual thumping and bumping and squeaking of his fudking broken
closet door. There are almost no traffic noises outside the window.
Plus -- weirdest of all -- there are no freshly-brewed *caffeine
molecules,* wafting into the bedroom from the kitchen.
squint at the clock radio on the headboard above David ... and that's
when it *dawns* on me that it's not 5:35 a.m. at all.
my god! I still have an hour! A whole lovely, wonderful, incredible HOUR
before it's time to roll into the shower and begin the daily
beautification rituals! I could get out of bed, right now,
and spend an entire sixty minutes in front of the computer, instead of
the usual paltry twenty-five! I could catch up on every single bit of
my unanswered e-mail -- even the spelling corrections and
the hate mail
and the forwarded-forwarded-forwards -- and I could write real
replies, for a change, instead of the terse three-word mini-responses
I'm usually forced to fire off. I could read all of the Internet
Journals on my favorites list ... plus a few on my Un-Favorites list. I
could finally get caught up on David's Super
Fun Time forum (New messages since your
last visit: 43,897,621) ... or I could put in a cameo
appearance on my own pathetic, embarrassingly-neglected forum
since your last visit: -3.).
could order my birthday roses!
could track my Amazon.com orders!
could write today's *FootNotes* entry RIGHT NOW,
while my brain is all bright and shiny and freshly-caffeinated, instead
of slumped over the laptop during my lunch hour!
... I could crawl back under the covers and finish The Jacuzzi Dream.
look across the bed at David, still blissfully twitching and drooling
and R.E.M.'ng. I look at the bedroom doorway: light from
the computer monitor shines through the open door from the next room,
beckoning me ... calling to me ... urging me to come out and play. I am
genuinely torn. Another hour in the cocoon? Or an extra hour of
early-morning productivity? Another small chunk of snuggle time? Or a
running start on the day?
Oh fudk it: I
roll over and hit the snooze bar.
Theory can keep until spring:
now the only reality I'm interested in is another sixty minutes' worth
of pillow time.