I’m a morning person, for the most part. I tend to wake up perky—a double-fisted drinker–hot tea in one hand, Coke Zero in the other.
Breakfast is my favorite. I especially like sweet, morning meals—pancakes, French toast, waffles. There’s a lot to be said for un-iced strawberry Poptarts. Okay, a WHOLE lot.
I’m most productive in the mornings, as well. I like to write then and begin or end art projects before the sun rises. Huddling in the half-light of predawn, I draw or scribble in notebooks–the smell of paperpencilpen pulling inspiration out of me.
This week, however, things have been otherwise. I’ve woken on the wrong side of the bed—the grumpy side of my usually perfect Serta.
I’m turned around and upside-down. I’m pouty-lipped and furrowed brow, frowning my way to a “terrible, horrible, no good, very bad” WEEK, if I don’t watch it. (No, I will NOT be moving to Australia.)*
I’m borderline miserable, but for no apparent reason. I’m pathetic, pure and simple. My neck is soar. My head aches. My mood is in the gutter. (Maybe making and displaying so much art depletes a person.)
So, forgive this piss-poor, half-assed post (and wish poor Sara well).
Have you ever opened your eyes on the Sealy’s wrong side? Are you a morning or a nighttime person?
And please, for the love of blog gods, make your perky opinions know in the comments below.
I’m going back to bed————————–
(*If you have never read Judith Viorst’s children’s book “Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day,” I recommend it.)