Index

Morning, Ugh.

A little humor break

Here is a little story I wrote from my wife’s point of view–she actually enjoyed reading it, and I only had one major thing I had to fix, so I was proud. I figured we could use a little humor break, and perhaps a bit of a reminder of why most of us really want to keep working from home.

My alarm clock beeping forces me to open my eyes, and the surge of anger at it for waking me up from a sweet, deep sleep makes me miss it on the first swing. The sudden pain as I knock over the bedside lamp really pops my eyes open. Damn, that hurt. By the time I finally get it to shut up, I am “awake.” The pillow sucks my head back down – “just for a moment” I tell myself. The morning hot flash just makes it worse.

My husband brings my coffee and house dress, then picks up the lamp and turns it on. “Nice” of him to remind me that it is time to get up, but at least there is the peace offering of coffee. Once the coffee refill starts to kick in – somewhere in there he got me some more without me really noticing – my eyes begin to stay open without me having to make them, and I can finally get up from the bed. Grabbing the phone, coffee, and house dress, I head for the bathroom in a hurry, suddenly realizing what really woke me up.

The third time my husband yells at me about breakfast, I finally decide maybe he is serious and head for the stairs. That third mug of coffee did all it could do, but at least I am walking in the right general direction. Making it to the kitchen without tumbling down the stairs was a serious challenge since the cat decided I needed some fresh bruises and tried to trip me to help me wake up. Another freaking little morning person – how in the hell did I survive those two bright-eyed energetic morning people I had for children? Easy now, Mondays are bad enough without bawling about the empty nest, too.

That’s right, it’s freaking Monday – Monday is a four-letter word; who cares how it is spelled? I poke myself with a fork while eating my eggs and then bite my cheek while moaning about the fork poke. By the time I finish my coffee, it is time for another trip to the bathroom, regardless of the eggs congealing on my plate. Getting old is a bitch.

On the way back into the kitchen I happen to glance at the clock and suddenly my adrenaline surges as I realize that I am already late and I haven’t showered yet and I have to wash my hair today or I will look like hell and that takes too long and the water heater BETTER be working today or my husband is going to endure a blast he won’t soon forget and I still didn’t get that new blow dryer yet so I am going to have to let it dry in the car again and spend ten minutes in the bathroom untangling it when I get to the office before I can even go to my desk and why the hell does Monday have to happen every week and why does my job suck so bad and damn I forgot to iron my blouse last night and …

When I get to work, my nerves are only as frazzled as my hair, which is a lot calmer than when I left home. The coffee pot is empty as usual, so I end up making coffee while trying to remember what I was supposed to do today. Just as I pour the coffee, I realize why the pot and the kitchen were empty – there was a morning meeting everyone was required to attend.

When I finally show up at the meeting and try to sneak in the back, everybody turns around, looks at me and claps. The boss has been making snarky remarks about my morning cheerfulness, or so my office mate tells me when I finally find an open chair and try to disappear into it. I tell my office mate to remind me to feed the boss his stapler sideways up his nose, then settle in to let the routine of yet another boring meeting settle the rest of my nerves. By the time I almost fall asleep three times, I realize that whoever is at the podium can’t help but see my head bobbing. Screw it. They deserve it. I am not the only one doing it; it’s morning. Ugh.