I hate waking up in the morning.
No really. I despise rolling out of a warm bed and feeling my feet on cold floors. I hate that groggy, I wish I were still dreaming, is it morning already feeling. And I love, love, love sleep.
I am a sleep champion. I can sleep through thunderstorms that wake the dead. When I'm tired I fall asleep in less than a minute. Twelve hours to sleep? Make it fourteen. I'm up to it. If sleeping was an Olympic sport and having narcolepsy was considered 'doping' I would be a gold medalist.
Once I'm awake and have officially rejoined the land of the living, I love life. Most people consider me to be pleasant and happy. I consider myself an out-going optimist.
I cringe at the harsh sound that zips out of my alarm clock. I have a faster draw on the snooze button than a Old West bank robber on his holstered gun. My motor memory for the location of this precious button is so precise that I can hit snooze without actually waking up. Sometimes I open my eyes and realize my alarm has gone off three times already before my brain registers beyond it's hand-to-button reflex arc.
Which also explains why I often eat cereal in the car on the way to work.
My alarm clock buzzes every nine minutes after you hit snooze and it's that loud tortured parakeet bellow (because I literally will not wake up to the radio). And so when I work day shifts it goes off at 6:00 then 6:09, 6:18, 6:27, 6:36, and 6:45. This is where I get concerned because I have to leave for work by 7. Now being a relatively low maintenance gal and wearing essentially the same outfit in varying colours to work and lately being limited to a certain number of scrubs because of my growing diameter, getting myself dressed and ready is thankfully easy. Making lunch and eating breakfast in time presents a real challenge and I usually commission my husband extraordinaire to help.