I went to bed last night at 10:30 pm. Before that, I had read the paper in bed for an hour. I had an active and productive Sunday. I hadn't even gone out Saturday night. I had a restful, practically bucolic, weekend.
However, for some reason this morning, when I heard the harps sounding my Monday morning wake-up call, I still snoozed for two hours post angelic harps.
It all began at 7:30 am. Again I remind you, I settled in around 10:30 pm. Even with a little tossing and turning, I easily got at least a solid 8 hours of sleep.
I was fully awake at 7:30 when the alarm went off, I could've easily gotten up, prepared for my day, enjoyed a leisurely breakfast, sipped my coffee, gotten dressed in a calm, ordered fashion, but no.
I waited until 9:20 when I only got out of bed because I realized it was garbage day. And let me tell you, when I realized it was garbage day, I sprung out of bed and raced around the house gathering trash as if the next garbage day fell in 2011.
After getting all the trash to the curb on time, I proceeded on with my chaotic morning routine of speeding from room to room, trying to shove some breakfast in my mouth, slam some coffee, put on my face lacquer, and locate matching socks.
In spite of my systematic and controlled morning routine, I showed up only 30 minutes late to train the new teacher who herself had showed up 15 minutes early. Therefore, you do the math, that makes me basically on time.
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