Morning Glory

I have never been good in the mornings.  My children learnt at a very young age not to make any shrill noises or sudden movements between the hours of 5.30 and 8.30am and to this day, they tiptoe down to my room and approach with extreme caution should they happen to visit any time before 9.00am.  In spite of having been born and raised in humble surroundings, some small distant cell within me has always known that I am a princess and as such, should be left to sleep until noon before being gently woken by the “help” quietly placing the breakfast tray on the softly lit bedside table.  The reality is somewhat different.  I will explain. 

5.10am alarm goes off.  Desperate fumble in the dark to try and shut the damn thing off, usually resulting in last night’s glass of water being tipped over and pouring all over the bedside table…clock is still making shrill pipping noises at this point.  Switch for bedside lamp miraculously located in the dark – blinding light fills my side of the room. Clock is smashed located and alarm turned off.  Light is left on to stop myself going back off to sleep.  Eyes closed, brain desperately trying to A. wake up and B. cope with blinding light.  I must lie perfectly still for a few minutes and come to terms with being awake at this hour if I am not to start the day with a stabbing.  Sometimes, against all odds, I doze for a moment. It is at that point, when I am drifting peacefully between sleep and wakefulness, that Mertyl, my beautiful little tri coloured familiar, launches herself, projectile like, from the bedroom door onto my very full bladder. 

I resign myself to the fact I may be a princess, but there is NO help arriving with the breakfast tray, and if I don’t get up shortly, Mertyl will re-launch.  I get out of bed, try desperately to get my legs to work in anything other than a drunk spastic fashion, bump my way to the bathroom before attacking the stairs (if there is to be enough momentum gathered to actually stay upright AND make it up the stairs, everything must be done at pace,  in an assertive fashion at this point  ) to organise MY OWN breakfast. A very risky business indeed given ones hands and brain have not yet co-ordinated.  At least one item is spilt or dropped during the process. The dropped item will triple in volume as soon as it hits the floor.  The spilt item will usually be scalding hot and land on the coldest part of my body causing a nausea inducing spike in adrenalin. Breakfast is eventually assembled at which point I limp take it back to bed to eat at a leisurely pace whilst catching up on the events of the world on my iPad.

At NO POINT during the time between the alarm going off and the pouring of the tea (towards the end of the breakfast eating/iPad surfing ritual) should there be talking or questions.  Scott is aware of this rule. Once, a very long time ago, there was an ugly incident where he tried to engage in conversation, including questions, before the tea was poured.  Although he seems to be able to function perfectly well without the tip of his right ear, he is not keen to repeat the experience and has very conveniently arranged all of his exercise sessions to take place at the crack of dawn (madness - and a WHOLE other blog for another day...) 

Although this means I have to get my own breakfast (dangerous -  per above) the upside is there is no risk of having to converse with anyone other than the cat, although after the early morning bladder stomp, I'm not sure I am speaking to her at all...