Not for the first time, I skipped college this morning. Nine o'clock starts are not reasonable, are they? My dialogue with the alarm clock pretty much followed the standard pattern today: It starts its horrible bleating at a disgusting hour and I wake up with a grunt and politely murmur "Oh do fuck off," before hitting the snooze button. Five minutes later it wakes me up again and again and I say "Stop with that horrible bleating at such a disgusting hour." I snooze once more. The bastard soon wakes me again with renewed vigour. "Five minutes, just five more fucking minutes is all I ask from you." Then, usually at this point I'll have a bit of an old scratch and a fart and gradually make my way toward whatever whoors and horrors the day may have in store for me. Not this morning. The sheer bleeping enthusiasm of the thing leads me to roar "I don't need you, I don't need anybody!" before convincingly smashing it off the wall with the greatest display of energy I'll manage to summon up all day. I sleep soundly for another five hours and it is transcendentally beautiful.
But not now it isn't. I lie wide awake at stupid o'clock, knowing that once again I'll have to be up at an obnoxious hour, feeling far from sated sleep-wise. Herself, who is no bundle of fun in the morning either, told me earlier that having me around makes it easier for her to get up, because she can laugh at my groans and grumbles and realise that, no matter how much I hate the morning, the morning doesn't care.
She's right, you know. I've never been much of a believer in New year's resolutions but perhaps, just perhaps, it might be time for me to try and start getting in tune with the times that polite society likes to fall and rise at. Failing that, I may just try to become an active member of the Australian blogosphere, where the hours I currently keep should tie in with theirs quite nice nicely.