There’s nothing inherently wrong with mornings, per se. No really, there isn’t. The problem with mornings is.. First, they come too soon. In truth, part of the morning is seen the night before, when the creative juices are flowing and there are a myriad of movies on television, all of which you’ve seen before but one will likely be worth watching for the fifteen time. Having eaten all the edible popcorn and finished a coke or two, you stretch and yawn. But you’re restless and end up flipping channels until you finally realize it’s quarter to two and you’re supposed to get up in the morning. Early. That’s when the insomnia really sets in. Fast forward to five a.m. when the early news comes on and you finally close your bleary eyes.
The alarm shrills seconds later. Well, it feels like seconds, although it might have been two and a quarter hours. That’s if you remembered to set it at all in your latenight capriciousness. No sleep, dragging your bones, drinking your coffee and having your shower, every cell screaming to return to the haven of blankets and pillows. All because you had to get up early. Oughta be a law.
They say smart creative people are nightowls. But they need to put somewhere, even if it’s in the small print, that this means smart creative people need to sleep in. And should definitely not be asked to operate heavy machinery in the early hours of the day. Perhaps after a late lunch.
Second problem with mornings is that some people seem to expect that you will actually make an effort in the morning. I mean, the world is rampant with a plethora of circumstances that imply and insist and expect with no latitude for refusal, that you will actually do. Do. DO. Get washed and dressed. Answer the phone. Answer your email. Drink coffee. Watch the news. Find your car keys. Leave the relative security of your abode to brave the outside world with all its diversions and wonkiness. You’re at the bus stop at 07:15, the bus is due at 07:24. Well. 07:30 comes and goes. Other buses come by, but not the one you need. Finally, the 07:54 shows up at 07:45 and sits for ten minutes while you restlessly sit looking out the window willing him to move because it takes thirty minutes to get downtown. You know what that means.
The look.
You arrive, penitent and out of breath, saying ‘sorry’ to everyone you pass, hanging up your coat, trying to get to your desk before your absence is remarked, maybe swinging by the coffee room to grab a cup and pretend that’s where you’ve been. So you pat down your hair and calmly walk towards your desk. And there it is. It stops you in your tracks. You swallow. You open your mouth to say something but all that comes out is “eekerumm”.
All she’s done is turn her office chair part way, her head swivelling on her long thin neck, her pearl beads dangling. Her eyes fix on you. Nothing is said. You begin to sweat. Your sweater feels too heavy now. The coffee cup in your hand begins to list, dangerously close to dribbling. You swallow again. Clear your throat. “Ackkeke. I - I - I - I w-w-w-ill w-w-worrrk through m-m-m-m-my lunch.” The tone of your voice is thin and desperate.
She begins to turn away. A slight nod.
You can breath again. You upright your cup and get to your desk, cursing mornings and bus schedules and supervisors.
Your day is brightened when your cellmate - correction, workmate - mentions it’s Andrea’s birthday. Andrea… Andrea? That blonde hashtag ohnotHER from accounting? Still, there will be cake. And cake is wonderful thing. Cake can make a day feel bright. Especially if there are some who can’t or won’t eat it. You begin to plan.
Be there when the cake is cut and start passing it out to people, but stash a piece. Then, in front of everyone, take a piece and chat, eating slowly, waiting for people to start wandering back to their desks. Quickly take another piece and take it back to your desk. Later, on the way back from the washroom, pick up the stashed piece. That’s three. Want to try for four? Hmm.
Later, on a sugar high, you might demonstrate ‘the look’ to your workmates. Just don’t get caught. Good thing they don’t serve wine on birthdays. It’s embarrassing enough at the Christmas party.
Christmas? Don’t get me started. Besides, it’s only April. We should be talking about spring things. (What? I know I brought it up, but I’m deciding to discard that topic until a more suitable time.)
Spring cleaning? Don’t get me started.
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