There is a sense of rightness to the experience of waking up slowly with the sun, the various chemical signals lining up just so in the deep, old parts of our animal brains. Now I am plunged back into dark mornings, feeling like some reptilian creature on a cold rock who can't move or think to save its life, much less successfully wake a potentially grouchy child , pack lunch, locate clean socks, and verify various hygienic practices have been performed before operating a motorized vehicle. It was such a torment to wake up to a sunny room Monday morning, feel that sense of rightness for a split second, and then have it torn away as the brittle, superficial overlay of my intellect told me "No, sunlight is BAD! Sunlight means the alarm didn't go off, you are late, you are in a hurry, you have to squeeze an hour of activity into (denial of how many minutes it might turn out to be), and you have to make an 8 year old girl do it, too. BAD!"
Of course, that is the salt in the wound. Even when the alarm operates properly, there is that sense of betrayal that I should have my deepest interior expectations toyed with so. I made my sacrifices to the Gods back in December (what, you don't sacrifice a few beets to the Oak King just in case?) and now stupid bureaucratic voodoo policies swoop in and steal a month of morning sun, totally messing with me, my neurochemicals, my sense of well being.
I should note that Edward, on that particular morning, managed a feat not unlike lifting a car off of a trapped child. He, famously Not A Morning Person, jumped directly out of bed, woke the girl, made a respectable lunch, gave me sympathetic looks, and got us out the door on time. (These occasional acts of domestic heroism are very, very endearing.)
No comments:
Post a Comment