So I get up at 8:00 am every morning. 8:00 am is fine. Just about fine. Anything before is a torture. How and why should anyone get up before 8:00 am!?
The real painful part is not getting up early. It is rushing, rushing to wherever. These days, I just put on my clothes before I even brush my teeth, and then proceed with the rest of the stuff, and then rush off to work. I take a bath at night, so I am fooled to believe that I am getting those extra minutes of sleep in the morning. Well, at least a warm bath helps me a bit with some good sleep.
I cannot get up, stretch, go back to sleep, get up again, stretch, listen to my favourite music, sleep again, brush lazily, make my ginger tea, drink it, as I listen to some good music, and then all of that follows. I just….rush 😥
I do not think this is fair. This is not how mornings should be, getting up, and rushing. Mornings, after you get up, and nights, before you go to sleep, are the most important times of one’s day. They should be nice. Well, if you tell me – then get up early, and have your gala time. I cannot. I. JUST. CANNOT. And if someone tries waking me up, I howl, I act like a psychopath. Even if I have told the person to wake me up, the previous night. Well…not a good thing, right?
Even as a kid, I used to make a lot of noise, when it came to waking up early, to go to school. My mom would not even begin with a sweet wake up call. She would just begin with a scream. A dangerous scream. She knew me well enough to do that. I would immediately get up. One has to be scarier than I, to wake me up. I would wake up, and go sit in the bathroom, in front of the bucket. As hot water filled in it, slowly (the faucets used to be very narrow back then, and it would take quite some time for the bucket to get filled) I would sit in front of the bucket, and droplets of hot water would plop out. They would hit my face. What a feeling that was! I would doze off, in front of the bucket. My mom would repeatedly bang at the bathroom door, because she knew I was neither brushing my teeth, nor taking a bath. Absolute silence suggested, I was sleeping inside. Damn!
Then sometimes, I would sit inside the bucket. Wow! That was the best feeling ever! I never felt like coming out of it. I sat in there like a lazy frog, on lazy afternoons. And again, mom would bang at the door. Then I started growing up physically, not mentally. I would still sit inside the bucket, and soon realized that I was getting stuck in it, but never realized that it was probably time to stop doing that. Mom told me to stop, and I suggested we buy a bigger bucket. Neh, did not work.