I’ve always been a night owl. Now I’m trying to be an early bird.
My brain has energy in the morning. Like Richards Simmons in leg warmers energy. I need to capture that.
Going from being up late to getting up early – it ain’t pretty.
My life for the past week:
4:30 a.m Make the geese go away! What happened to the cowboy in chaps? Save the baby! Alarm! Alarm! Alarm! Wait. The goose didn’t eat the baby. Get up. Breathe. Why is it so early? Why am I awake?
4:40 a.m. I rock! I’m a superstar! I’m up. Gold Star for me. Give me coffee.
4:50 a.m. Drink coffee through a straw. Can I make an IV with what I have in the kitchen? Main line caffeine McGyver style. I’m a writer. Now I gotta write.
6:00 a.m. 1 hour and 10 minutes of writing. Yeehaw. I think I just wrote the Great American Novel. Do I see the word “chicken” 20 times. Huh? Later. Get the kid up. Dress. Get out the door. Go to work. I have climbed a mountain. Look at me! I’m an early bird!
10:00 a.m. I’m still awesome. I can speak in complete sentences. I can spell my last name. I can smile.
11:00 a.m. There’s a funny tingling in my brain. My eyes itch. I’m not awesome. You are not awesome.
12:00 p.m. I hate you. I hate everyone. I need more people to hate. If Tinkerbell flew through my window I’d squish her sparkly little head between my fingers and rip the gossamer wings off her back. Tinkerbell is stoooopid. Birds are stooopid. Why are people talking to me? I want to take a paper clip and carve my name in their eyeballs. I need bacon. A nap. It’s hot in here.
12:05 p.m. Nap. Coffee. Blanket. Snickers. Mommy. Shoot me.
6:00 p.m. I love all my fellow humans. We are family. Let me find my pearls and my apron so I can make a nice casserole for dinner. Then I should dust. Vaccuum. Mop. Move the furniture. Maybe clean the oven. Rebuild my truck engine.
9:00 p.m. Discover Mob Wives on Netflix. Promise myself I’m gonna stick to the 10 p.m. bedtime. Remind myself how fancy I feel typing in the wee hours of the morning.
10:00 p.m. Realize that I”ve discovered a whole new level of trash. Loud, volatile italian style. I want a New York accent. Big hair. Botox. I have to see what happens next. Just 30 more minutes.
10:30 p.m. I can’t stop now. There’s gonna be a fight. Plus an FBI raid. Renee’s husband is arrested. I’m sucked in. I loose track of time.
11:30 p.m. I’m out of control. I have to know when Drita’s husband gets out of prison.
12:30 a.m. Bed. Emotional final episode. Fighting. There was blood. Someone flashed their Spanx at the camera. I love it when they scream “I’m gonna kill youse” . Bed. Now.
1:00 a.m. Sleep comes hard and fast.
It’s a viscous cycle.