#TBT: I can’t stress this enough… or something about crickets

I’m trying to shift my circadian rhythm. Is that even possible? I naturally awaken at 8 o’clock in the morning. 8 o’clock and the world is my oyster. Earlier than that, not so much. The night is where I shine. It’s where I’m the most writerly productive. I’ve been known to cook or clean in the wee smalls. Rearrange furniture. Knit some leg warmers.

I am one with the crickets.

Sometimes though, it feels like I’m missing out on another world entirely. The world of sunrises and early risers. The world of egg-gatherers, lobstermen, and construction workers. The world of being dressed before 10.


So I’ve been pushing that 8 o’clock back. Making sure I’m up at 7. This morning it was 6:30, but I was awake at 4:30. Damn birds. I’ve survived 16 days so far. Blink, blink. It’s still a struggle to go to bed before midnight.

My prospects with the farm/ranch/agri-world are slim to none, social or otherwise.

Am I right? I’m right.

Let’s throw.

I’m a PMP… not your Meyers-Briggs…

Last Saturday night, we had this conversation:

Me: What time do we have to leave in the morning?

Himself: 8:45.

Me: Okay. Wake me up at 7:00. That way I can go back to sleep for half an hour and be up at 7:30 to hot roll my hair before we leave.

Thoughtful silence — no, really — followed by Himself laughing.

Himself: You are weird, woman.

I’m not weird. Well, not much. I’m a PMP — pitiful morning person. Even in grade school, I would get up early enough to put on all my clothes, eat and gather my junk, so that I could catch 30 mins on the couch-sofa-davenport-whatever before leaving for school.

I will always ask to be awakened 30 mins earlier, so that I can dive back under the covers and cheat Father A.M. That’s just the kind of gal PMP I am.

I like the night. I like the moon, the stars, the quiet…. the lack of birdsong which, by the way, has been heralding the morn at 4:30 these days. Not a PMP’s best friend. I like birdsong after caffeine, after carbs, after flip-flops and yoga pants, after noon.

It’s not that I don’t like the sun. I LOVE the sun… just not in the morning.

See these feet? Even these feet tell it like it is. The toes pointing up? Yeah. He’s definitely a morning person. The downward doggy toes? Yep. She’s flipping-off Father A.M. big time.

What about you? Are you from the light or the dark side? We won’t judge.

(June 2011)


And that’s how we’re rolling this Throwback Thursday.



3 thoughts on “#TBT: I can’t stress this enough… or something about crickets

  1. My hubby laughs at me… he says “I am not a morning puppy”. Let me explain… we have a Yorkie. His name is Pookie. He is almost 10 years old but has NEVER been a morning dog. He will lay in the bed with me as long as I let him. If I get up, he will snuggle right down into the covers and poke his head out. “Aw mom, do we HAVE to get up?” I pick him up, promptly take him to the door and make him go out. He comes back in immediately and expects to be picked up and put back on the bed. LOL! He will not eat breakfast before 10am. It’s hilarious! So now my hubby says neither of us are morning puppies! 😅😅😅

    Liked by 1 person

Comments are closed.