In my previous article, I mentioned that I consider myself a morning person. Now: I apologise if you're an evening person and your sensibilities are offended by this notion; nevertheless I am now going to enlarge on the subject !
What does it mean to be a morning person?
Try Googling the term and you'll be rewarded with webpages discussing circadian rhythms, Period-3 genes, 'owl' types, 'lark' types and the compatibility issues around the two. There are reams of authoritative opinion and earnest expertise to be had. I'm not going to be anything like as academic as all that. In this post I'm only concerned with my own experiences. So there !
What does it mean to be this morning person? Well, it so happens that my lark tendency has been one of the quiet banes of my existence; I can't remember ever sharing my life with similarly keen early-risers.
If I riffle through my memories of all those first-waking moments (particularly those on which I didn't need an alarm-clock), I'm faced with a long and bemusing series of similar tableaux: any other occupants of the bedroom --- or dormitory, or crash pad --- lying oblivious in the pre-dawn, huddled under their covers like snoring and flatulent caterpillars, while I rise smoothly and silently to my feet, with cautious and uneasy glances around me; as if I've just died, and floated out of my own carcass. Common decency dictates that I mustn't make any noise to disturb the other sleeper or sleepers, so I find myself padding out of the room in a fairly silly exaggerated mince, trying to avoid:
- creaky floorboards;
- unseen trip-hazards such as discarded underwear;
- the limbs or tail of any unsuspected (and unsuspecting) household pet,
...all this, just to find a secluded spot where I can have a damn' good cough and a splutter.
Other larks might agree here, that it's hard not to view that history of slumbering bodies as a collective cold shoulder of disapproval: the entire owl population telling the lark to stop being so unnatural, for goodness' sake.
To me of course it's perfectly natural; having planted my feet on the bedroom floor and stood up, I can't entertain the idea of climbing back into bed. That would be the behaviour of a craven backsliding owl ("What d'you mean, you need another half-an-hour? Are you some kind of weirdo?").
Of course, a simple remedy for this daily moment of awkwardness is to live --- or at least sleep --- alone. And so it proves on this particular morning, on Day 13991, as I straighten up from my Swedish palliasse and gaze about me. I am alone, no-one's snoring or farting at me, and being up at 6:47 a.m. feels absolutely right --- in fact it feels bit on the late side if you ask me !
Best of all, that misshapen heap on the bed is a duvet, not my own shrugged-off mortal remains. So breakfast will still be an option. The day just keeps getting better.....