The alarm goes off, and I fumble for a bit, saying “No! Stop! Hush!” While I try to figure out in my sleep-addled state why I can’t find the stop button. Or even the snooze. Just… something to shut it up!
I sort that and then I snuggle back into the covers. It’s that pleasant time of year when the covers a enjoyable but not yet necessary. In a few weeks I’ll really struggle to get out of bed, and into the cold of the morning. But for now, it’s just a cozier place. I close my eyes, fully intending to sleep to the next alarm.
But I don’t.
This week feels backwards. The weekend felt like workdays – just the feel of them, not the reality – and every day wakes up feeling like a Saturday, every night like a Friday.
(This would be a fantastic way to feel if it wasn’t for the slowly dawning evergreen reality: work morning, work night.)
So I wake up. I don’t get up. Yet.
There’s a language lesson to take and a puzzle to solve and scripture to read. There’s social media to scroll. There’s eventually news to hear and that reminds me of the time.
Time to start the coffee.
Time to face the day.
Time to get up.