It takes a special kind of person to enjoy mornings. It is a miracle of optimism when anyone can bounce out of bed without the aid of legal addictive stimulants (Coffee, people. Coffee.) or an annoying alarm clock located on the opposite side of the room. In fact, I can’t think of a single person of my acquaintance who can maintain this sort of early-morning positivity.
Alright, maybe my best friend. But she had all her blood replaced with liquid caffeine years ago, so she hardly counts. She also usually sleeps for no more than three hours a night. I’m referring to non-superheroes.
I am not a morning person. Even if one morning I woke up in an enchanted castle with a magical talking tea service offering me the morning paper and asking if I preferred one lump or two. Even if the castle’s friendly talking housecat brought me my slippers and politely informed me that the library fireplace had been lit for an hour and the independently wealthy and incredibly handsome single owner of the enchanted castle was waiting there to have breakfast with me (and would love to discuss Shakespeare and perhaps read me a sonnet or two), I would still roll out of bed with a bit of a grumble and ask how just strong the tea was.
My early-morning (pre-coffee) conversation is usually limited to Frankenstein’s-monster-esque grunts that are only vaguely similar to any real spoken language. For example, “Mffghrg” may be roughly translated as “Good morning! Would you kindly point me in the direction of the kitchen? I am in need of sustenance. Thank you. Have a lovely day.” Ask anyone in my family. They’ll tell you it’s true.
Of course, during vacation it is a little easier to be congenial first thing in the morning. The likelihood that you’ve gotten a good night’s sleep is much higher, and there’s usually nowhere to go or deadlines to meet. There may still be deadlines, but your “care quotient” is automatically much lower because, I repeat, you’re on vacation. Therefore it is easier to get out of bed feeling A) well-rested and B) a lot more carefree. You have the option of staring at the ceiling for a few minutes to half an hour before climbing out of bed. You can linger over your first cup of coffee—and your second. And your third. You have the time to read the daily comics or really think about that passage in wherever you happen to be reading in your Bible. Then, and only then, will the non-morning person feel equipped to face the day—and by that time, it is probably midafternoon anyway.
During the school year, however, it is much more likely that I (and others) will be getting up before the sun, fumbling around in the dark for that first cup of coffee, and will still be completely uncivil until lunch time. Every morning we’ll wake up and immediately tally the hours until we can be back in bed again. Such is the life of non-morning people.