Cats and Dogs, Living Together, Chaos! Mayhem!
I am not a morning person. Shamefully not a morning person. If I became Queen of the World, I would institute a new work day that allowed 1pm til 9pm to be perfectly acceptable business hours in any time zone, thank you very much. I would not force everyone to do it, because then banking would still be a pain for most people, among other things.
But I’m serious: if I could sleep the way my body clock thinks it is supposed to sleep, I would not go to bed until about 1 or 2am, and I would probably wake up between 10am and 11am ready to get up. (I would still wake up at least once or twice in the mean time, because my REM sleep seems to cycle to all-the-way-awake lately, which allows for checking on other inhabitants of the house, so that’s fine.)
I try not to be horrible about this, but I’m not actually likely to say “good morning” until closer to noon. I will respond to greetings of “good morning” with a neutral “morning” so as not to be horribly rude, unless I know you and know you know me in which case I might say something snarky about proof required for adjective.
Sadly, coffee doesn’t help. Coffee is nice and gives me energy, and if properly treated (usually with creamy sweet chocolate or caramel flavored things), is even quite pleasant, but otherwise it’s just the hot thing with caffeine which makes me feel like I’m maybe focusing a bit better than I was before I started drinking coffee. A nice black tea is about the same, except incrementally more comforting.
My husband is a morning person. He knows I’m not. He knew it before we got married. He even knew it before we moved in together. (I thought it was important.) Sometimes though, he forgets.
This morning, he was particularly chipper and kept rattling off cheerfully about any number of things … but the final straw was when he made a joke. (I think it was really a pun, or just off-color, but I wasn’t awake enough to be more than horrified that he was joking and it was morning!) I looked at him, and I told him quite firmly, “You should leave. Because I want to smack you, and that’s not good. I love you.” He laughed, told me he loved me, and wandered out. This was before my shower, mind you.
Post shower, he came back in and got his goodbye kiss, and another love you. I’m very lucky that he doesn’t take anything I say too much to heart, when I’m at that stage of the day.