Monday, May 17, 2010

Call Me Irresponsible

Well, more like, call me hypocritical.  Let me explain.

I am not a morning person.  

This is a truth universally known to just about all people who have come across me either before 9 AM and/or before I've had at least one cup of coffee.

Its hereditary.  Soon after my mom became and RN she moved back home to live with my grandparents for a little while to save some money.  She had gotten a job in a hospital by my grandparents' and so she moved out of her Greenwich Village apartment and back onto Long Island.  Since she was working the night shift she would, as the story goes, come home after a long night and sleep.  And sleep.  And sleep.  For ten, twelve, fourteen hours at a clip.  My grandfather would always tell us that after a twelve hours had gone by and he hadn't heard her so much as turn over in her sleep, he'd get nervous and would check on my semi-comatose mother to make sure she was still breathing.


That is my DNA.  My brother and I are both super sleepers.  My brother can sleep until noon without even thinking twice about it.  


I used to be that way.  Now its a different story.  Since graduating I've been working for a large defense contracting company.  And, as a whole, its been a great experience.  Decent pay, low living expenses, resume building, network developing, its all good.  Except for one thing.  I have to be at work before 8.  But if I get to work at 8, I have to stay until 5, which I no likey because it makes my evenings more hectic than I'd like.  So most days I carpool with my dad and get in by 7.  Which means I get off at 4 and am usually home by 4:45 which gives me tons of time to get to the gym where I sweat to the oldies, eat dinner, and indulge in my TV addiction.


So even though getting off at 4 is good, waking up at 5:15 is not.  Way not.  And let me tell you, 5:15 comes early in the morning.  Most of the time, my mornings pass by in a fog.  I'm not usually firing on all cylinders until at least 8:30.  Its a sad fact of corporate America.  I don't think I'll ever "get used" to these hours as long as I live because every morning is still a struggle.  My body is literally physically fighting me from becoming the morning person that I probably need to be.


Most mornings I sit in the passenger's seat of my dad Honda Accord, fighting to keep my eyes open.  Everyday we drive by car after car where the driver is talking on the phone.  I don't really have a huge problem with the fact that they're on the phone, my problem is that they are on the phone before 7 o'clock in the morning.  


Let me tell you what happens if someone calls me before 7 am, even if I am already up: I turn off my phone and have to restrain myself from throwing it with all of my might right out the window.


Every morning I see them, gabbing away about God only knows what.  But usually they look relatively happy, or at least not devastatingly unhappy, ruling out the only acceptable reason to be on the phone at that hour, matters of life and death.  I mean, really, what else can't wait until 9?


Well this morning, I became one of those people that I despise so much.  I've been taking this Zumba class at the Y for the past month or so.  And the instructor is really good.  So good, that you need to call the day before to reserve your spot.  And you better call early.  I learned that one last week when I called at 8:30 in the morning and my class was already full.  

This week I remembered.  And I called.  And it was 6:48.  Then I got in touch with my friends to remind them to call and save their spots (yest I texted, but no I was not moving).  And a little piece of my soul died.  It really did.  Because now apparently the only reasons for me to be on the phone before 9 AM, before I've had any coffee, before I've fully gotten the sleep out of my eyes is life, death, and zumba. 

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