This morning, I didn’t want to get up.
It was like most mornings. I’m not a morning person. I never was a morning person. I may never be a morning person.
It’s something about myself that I’ve accepted. Brent can hop out of bed the minute his alarm starts dinging, but I can’t. Instead, I fumble for my phone (it’s my alarm clock) and hit the snooze. That sweet, sultry, sinfully delicious snooze button. I don’t care if it’s only five more minutes. That’s five more minutes I’ll be spending warm and beneath my blankets, free from responsibility.
You could say that the snooze button and I are in a long term, codependent relationship. At times, it’s been unhealthy.
In high school, I set three alarm clocks – all of which I would end up either turning off or hitting snooze on. My growing limbs just weren’t listening to the radio, the buzzing, and the ringing all at once. I had to go back to bed. I NEEDED more sleep.
Those who lived with me were none too pleased.
In college, the snooze button and I went on a bit of a break. I had a roommate in my dorm, so I needed to train myself to get up at a decent hour so as not to disturb her. It worked – until I got my own apartment.
The snooze button and I got hot and heavy then. Showing up to my 8:30 a.m. class three minutes late, unshowered and probably looking like hell? Yep. That was me. It was like a drug. I started taking naps then, too.
When Brent and I moved in, that was an adjustment period for sure. Sharing your bed and sleeping habits with someone is incredibly intimate – and challenging – as you try to figure out exactly how this puzzle is going to fit together. There were moments when the snooze button has tried to cut in on my real life relationship. Thankfully, if that’s the worst thing I have to worry about, we’re doing pretty good.
Brent is an early riser, but now with my work schedule, I’m up before him most days. On weekends, Brent is up well before me, out taking photos or hiking to take pictures of the sunrise. But, I still go back to the snooze button.
Oh, Snooze. Why can’t we just unhinge ourselves from each other? You know I love you, but you’re keeping me from having extra time in the morning, time that I could use to go to the gym or make breakfast or spend time actually doing something with my hair.
You make me groggy, even though there’s this little voice in the back of my mind that’s telling me that I should indulge in hitting you one more time because I’ll feel more rested.
When I’m with you, you make me want to stay asleep all day. When I try to take a nap, you turn what was a 30 minute siesta into an hour long saga where I feel even more tired than before. You make my life harder – but yet, I keep coming back.
Maybe, just maybe, one day I’ll be able to take a vacation from you. I’ll get up on time and actually get to the gym. I’ll make breakfast and have time to do something productive. Maybe I’ll read the newspaper – or at least a blog post or two.
But…as always, I need just five more minutes.