Ever since I was a young girl, I've loved to sleep in. This was great during the summer, but not so much during school. It used to take my Dad marching into my room to wake me up, and sometimes my two brothers would threaten to pour water on me. They actually did a few times and thus, witnessed the Wrath of Melissa. Not a good thing.
Yesterday my daughter was ill with a stomach ache, so I stayed home from work. We both crashed on the couch and slept for four hours. And I loved it.
I look forward to Saturday mornings because I get to sleep in. On the days I have to get up, I set the alarm clock fifteen minutes fast, then set it to go off earlier than I need to get up so I can hit snooze several times. My husband is baffled by this behavior. "Why don't you just get up when the alarm goes off?" I have no explanation for him, other than I have hardly ever done that in my life. Guess it's just a habit.
It's not that I don't love early mornings - when I actually do have to get up for one reason or another, I love the brilliance of morning. The air is crisp. Everything is in sharp focus. Yet I will not go out of my way to get up to experience this. I am a night person, through and through. My grandmother is the same, and so is my mom, so maybe this is hereditary, I don't know.
What I do know is that I am growing frustrated with my love of sleep. I don't want to sleep as much as I do. There are things to do! Scenes to write! Books to read! Why waste time on sleep?
But am I frustrated enough that I will give up my Saturday sleeping-in ritual? Doubtful... :-)
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