So Not a Morning Person

I have often been told that you can train yourself to be a morning person.

I would like to refute that nasty piece of propaganda.

After many years of having to rise at 0600 in order to catch a train to London, I never once went to bed with ease before 10pm and I never, ever, ever woke up before my alarm.

To this day, and during periods of unemployment, as I often have due the fickle nature of being a consultant, I research the natural sleep patterns of my body.

1. I need eights or more hours of sleep
2. If I don’t get a minimum of eight hours, I have a week before I NEED to catch up that sleep deficient
3. My body will fall into a rhythm of bed at midnight up at eight or later.
4. I snore

When working I often have sleep to catch up on by the time the weekend comes around. This weekend will be no exception, but this week through no fault of my own.

I am fortunate at the moment in that my job allows me the luxury of rising at what I consider to be a fairly civilized time. I rise between 0730 and 0800. Shower, sort out the family feeding requirements and drive to work. I still arrive between 0845 and 0915. Almost, the perfect arrangement, perfect would be being able to work from home.

So as you can imagine, I was somewhat perturbed this morning when I was awoken, not by the sounds of harps coming from SleepCycle® but the bleating of trucks reversing down my street, followed by crunching sounds of tarmac being scraped into a digger bucket and blokes yelling instructions. When the cockatoos screech I can block that out as it is classified in my head as a ‘sound of nature’, not so with trucks, tradies and tossers at 0600.

I went to bed at midnight last night.

As I was up, I tried to leave early. I couldn’t because the road was blocked. I had to wait before I could get my car out of the driveway.

I asked one of the men in flouro if anyone had thought to let the residents know that the perfectly good road was going to be dug up.

I was informed that a letterbox drop had been done a week ago. I assured them that I had received no such warning and neither had my neighbours and that perhaps that the powers that be should speak to the person responsible for said drop to find out where they had dumped the flyers. I know my neighbour knew nothing about it because I know that the local gossips would have been having a field day on something happening in the street and when I’d been caught outside weeding on the weekend it would have been mentioned. I know about Lisa from round the corner having a baby with webbed toes for crying out loud and I don’t even know (or care) who Lisa is!

I’m working on six hours sleep today. Could be interesting

Tom Cat

I was lying in bed this morning asleep, or at least I think I was, or at the very least in the half state between sleep and awake waiting for the drilling next door to start when I heard a rat-a-tat-tat knock on my front door. I looked at the clock, 0705.

I got out of bed, opened the door a crack and hid everything but my head behind it (naked from the waist down you see). Standing on my step was the lady from next door but one. Bobbie I think her name is. She moved out yesterday.

‘Have you seen my cat?’

Well…I won’t write what went through my head at the point, but what I said was, ‘I’ve only seen my own.’

A little further investigation revealed, after all she wouldn’t leave and she kept talking about her white half Persian with blue eyes called Rocky, that her was two years old, not de-sexed, unmicro-chipped and had no collar. Also, she revealed that when she was loading up the car with all her stuff she let him out because the friends that came to help brought their dog with them.

D’oh!

I didn’t have the heart to tell her she would probably never see him again.