I thought I'd try something new and different this morning. Namely, waking up. And it was really rather pleasant.
My alarm is set, every day, for 6 a.m. Before I moved 53 miles from work, and instead was able to walk one block to the office, I was able to, literally, wake up 20 minutes before I had to be anywhere. Now I have to figure in the hour commute and the seventeen-hundred times I hit snooze.
So, by then it's 6:51 a.m. And I have to scramble to get ready, feed the cats, feed myself, iron my clothes, which were inevitably shoved in a pile on the laundry room floor growing wrinkles, and lay around for an extra three minutes. And that is all really rather stressful and not at all good for my psyche. As if I've ever in my life paid any attention to my psyche, or even know what that means. But it sounded good.
In the sake of not wanting to rush this morning, I woke up at 5 a.m. after The Fiance left for work. Five a.m. That left me, like, two hours to do whatever I pleased. I actually sat on the couch in my pajamas (read: not actually pajamas, and instead whatever I happened to fall asleep in last night, after a day of beaching and Battleshipping) and watch the news. And eat toast. Drink coffee. Check my email. Comment on blogs. Stalk friends on Facebook. Watch more news. Wear unwrinkled clothing.
Oh, the glory!
Now, remind me of this glory at approximately 4:58 p.m., as I'm halfway through my commute home, and I'm falling asleep at the wheel. But until then, I shall relish in the fact that I got to take my sweet ass time this morning.