It’s not fair, really.
No lying about in bed of a morning, stretching and dozing and just generally relaxing for me. And late nights out on the town with friends? Hah!
The midnight train leaves the station promptly at 9pm, Bucko, and I’m going to be on it, like it or no.
It wasn’t always this way. There was a time, not so long ago, when I could pretty much set my own hours, but that was when I was sleeping from home. Shoot, I could show up for bed at 2am in my birthday suit, and as long as I put in my 8 hours, it didn’t matter a wit.
No more those carefree days – I work for the (sand)Man now.
In truth, it’s a minor inconvenience, generally. The biggest drawback is that my partner in life is definitively NOT a morning person. When I’m winding down, she’s winding up, and when I’m raring to go at 6:30am, well… Let’s just say she’s less than enthusiastic about hearing my plans.
In a couple hours she’ll be getting her second eye open, hunting for that first cup of tea and greeting what’s left of the day, but right now you couldn’t get her out of bed with a crowbar.
In truth, I miss her company in the morning. I miss that quiet, soft shuffling around to get the tea on and poured, miss the almost silent period when we sit and sip and slowly – oh so slowly – begin to speak of little things: of our dreams, perhaps, and how we slept, and the thought that occurred just as we were falling asleep but “you were snoring already and I couldn’t tell you…” Gradually we’d work around to what the day might hold and our hopes for it, but that takes time. There’s no rushing a morning done on the buddy system.
Of course there are compensations. I’m writing this during that period of the morning when it’s only me, and I suspect I do some of my better writing when my brain is fresh from sleep, but not yet cluttered with the minutia of a day already underway, or just concluded.
Perhaps. But middle-age has come home to roost, and I guess I had better get used to hearing it scrambling around the place, sharp talons on a tile roof. The last of the celestial bodies have faded from the sky, the first fishing boat has blasted into the bay looking for a worthy opponent, and I’ve run out of muse.
Good morning, wonderful. How was your night?