Monday morning starts off with my alarm working perfectly. Apparently I am not. Never heard a sound from 5:45 am when the alarm began it’s attempts to arouse me, until I actually woke up (primarily because it was so damn bright in my bedroom) at 8:30 am.
As I rush around to make coffee and gather my wits, my non-working or going to school 17 year old, (who will be working by Tuesday, AND enrolled in an online program or she’ll be lacking a house and food) strolls out of her room in a perky mood, looking beautiful and well refreshed, asking if she may have some coffee while humming a tune. Why does this make me hate her more than I already do? One can infer, I have my own reasons.
Now it’s 11:45 am and I’m still attempting to ingest enough coffee to lose the puffy eyes and co-workers are microwaving their lunch, making the whole place smell like food – yuck! Half my day is missing and I’m trying to catch the hell up. And write about it. Because writing about it helps. And takes up more time. And I work better under pressure.