blearg
It gets harder and harder to drag our bodies out of bed in the morning. Between the messy bedroom (an unkempt sleeping area supposedly messes with your sleep, like TV in the background or a weird smell) and los hooligans (anyone who gets home after 11 p.m. - and lets the building know they're home), the quality of our sleep just isn't that great. Getting up in the mornings is something like: BRAP BRAP BRAP BRAP - hit snooze once or twice - meow meow meow meow - let the cat in, get back in bed - purr, kick, bite - feed cat, get back in bed - shuffle whine shuffle - let dog out of sleepy crate, get back in bed - ... etc.
In a couple of weeks I will be in my happy place(s) - Disneyland, the Fashion Show Mall in Las Vegas, and then, just home. Home for looooong stretches of time. Home to wake up leisurely, check in on Vickie (who will, sadly for me, be miles and miles away by then) and Dan, read the morning trainwreck blogroll (such fun to read the latest of the drama queen epiphanies on Xanga and Blogspot over a frappuccino, I imagine, till I get my hands on The Hills anyway). Home to rearrange the living room. Home to try cultivating another avocado plant (won't let the cat pull a George Washington on this one.) Home to plan the details of our wedding. Home to practice that wifely duty of cooking actual dinners (or, if you're me circa sometime last week, buying a pre-roasted chicken from Sam's Club, discarding its plastic container, and popping it in the oven.) Home. Doesn't that sound nice?
2 comments:
11pm is the cutoff for hooligans? wow, you're old. just remember, you're dentures are in the glass next to the bed and your glasses are on top of your head.
maybe feng shui the place? or build a rube goldberg contraption.
sometimes we're in bed by 9:30! and it's those nights that the 11 o'clock wake-ups piss us off the most.
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