#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.