To Sleep, Perchance to Dream

When I got to the gym this morning, the woman at the counter looked into my drooping eyes and chuckled.

"Don't worry; the worst is over."

Christ, is it that obvious?

I have a love/hate relationship with mornings.  And by "love/hate" I pretty much mean "hate."

There's nothing like the first rays of sunshine hitting the buildings and trees at dawn.  The only people on the streets are delivering papers or unlocking their businesses, except for the occasional jogger out taking in the brisk morning air.  The anticipation of the coming day adds sweetness to the calm and beauty around you.

But if you think for a nanosecond I'm crawling out of my nice comfy bed to see any of that then you'd better check your weed for flakes of mandrake or nightshade. 

That morning inertia--when gravity seems to be concentrated on you and your comforter, and that buzzing box next to your pillow is being fist-squashed like a beetle--has such a hold on me that I wouldn't expend the energy to kick a cruise-missile off the sheets of it landed there.

This begs the question: why the hell did I have a child?

There's little need for an alarm clock with Cheeky, because those first pathetic wails in the morning are more than sufficient motivation to shuffle bleary-eyed out of the bedroom and fetch the poor kid.  I feel for her, because waking up makes me want to wail, too.  But years of laziness have taught me that rolling over and burying my head and the pillow can buy me precious weeks minutes of extra sleep.  She won't learn that until Somnology 301 (not usually offered until your 24th semester), and when you add the discomfort of swimming in your own urine and being hungry after a dinner of Teddy Grahams she's probably looking for more than just a snooze alarm.

But when it comes to Cheeky's sleeping habits I have no reason to complain.  She's been Lionel Richie for a full year now, and she's taken it up a notch the last couple weeks, going 13 hours straight and not making a peep when she goes down.  It's like having Ladainian Tomlinson on your fantasy football team:  while others suffer we just do a little happy dance.

Herein lies the dilemna:  If Cheeky is sleeping until 9 AM, then it's MY responsibility to get my ass out of bed.  You can't expect me to do that on my own.  Isn't it my obligation...my duty...to sleep in, too?

Morning motivation is in short-supply at Casa de Cheeky.  What's to look forward to?  Coffee and the paper?  The news isn't that interesting.  Work?  Hey, I like my job but PowerPoint is hardly the path to spiritual fulfillment?  Quality time with Oodgie?  She's right there next to me; her evenings are longer than mine.  The gym?  I've already got a fabulous body...there's no need to work on it.

That last part is a lie, which is why I was at the gym this morning.  You would think the pungent smell of sweat--combined with watching old men with red headbands, knee-high socks, and t-shirts tucked into their shorts life 5 lb. weights--would be enough to rouse anyone from bed, but it's taking all my mental energy just to drag the pillow off my head.

The battle between my id and my super-ego in those first semi-conscious minutes is Ali-Frazier all over again.  While my super-ego screams "get up get up you lazy shit," my id yells "you BASTARD I will RAM your TOE into the dresser on the way out if you don't let me lie here."  And as usual my id makes good on it's promise.

I could try to work out at night, but between quality family time and my other priorities it's easy for me to make excuses.  I could take the quick and easy path to physical perfection, but we all know that drugs aren't the answer.  Or I could take a journey of personal acceptance, but I don't know if I can justify a trajectory towards a huskier future.

And so I battle my inner Dude yet again, hoping to turn this grudging spurt of motivation into a trend or--dare I dream--a habit?  Perhaps with focus and dedication I can turn myself into a morning person whittle away at my nutritional reserves.

HA!  A morning person?  That will never happen.  I just have to keep it up until daylight savings is over, when Cheeky will start waking up early again. 

In nature they call that "symbiosis."  In our house we just mumble, "well, I'm up anyway..."

Comments

[WCG]

"Morning Person?" That is hereditary and you know who you did not inherit that from. Sounds like that is a "gift" you passed on to your daughter. :-)

[Kara]

Id and Super Ego in the Ultimate Fighting cage match. Funny.

I hit the gym at night after the kid is asleep. Hell, I could probably hit the gym after Hubby goes to sleep as I am part of the insomniac club myself.

Fitness is overrated.

[Peter]

Getting out of Bed sucks! There is no getting around it. I do it for my kids. Why am I a parent? That is a very good question.

[Jonathon]

There is nothing worse then waking up in the morning. Every morning I feel like I might pass out from the bed to the shower.

Somehow I stumble through, and by 10am I'm ok for public consumption.

Before 10? Don't speak lest ye face my wrath!

[Mrs. Chicky]

It's after noon and it's gray and rainy outside. I would so still be in bed right now if I didn't have that kid to take care of.

[MetroDad]

"When I got to the gym this morning" --- WHO ARE YOU AND WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WITH MY FRIEND TONY???

[Your Nemesis]

I hate LaDanian Tomlinson and I hate Pat Riley and his stupid sunglasses and I hate your stupid ass face.

Was that one guy wearing jams?

Okay, you may be a jerk wad. But Cheeky sure is a cutie pie.

[misfithausfrau]

The Dude does NOT go to the gym. He goes to the bowling alley.

Word.

[thordora]

I just can't stand the fact that it's still dark when I get up at 7:30. I can handle waking up if the sun is up, but it just seems unfair when it's still pitch black out.

[Kristen]

Good lord, I'm doing the crack of dawn gym trips these days, too. You're right - there's no other time to do it, really. It's torture for non-morning people like us. Stupid fitness goals.

[Oh, The Joys]

13 hours straight?! SOoooooooooooo jealous!

[Stephanie Beack]

At least you don't work at a hospital, where insane doctors like to have meetings BEFORE they head into surgery. That means Mondays like today, where I'm up at 5:00 a.m., out the door at 5:45 and listening to presentations on molecular surgery at 7:00 a.m. sharp. Ugh.