By Michael Howlett
December 4, 2013
The other day I read a blog by a young lady that dealt with how to get your day off to a good start. She offered nine tips that would turn you from a snarling mass of grumpiness to a freakin’ ray of sunshine. As you might guess, I am not a morning person and don’t think I ever could be, no matter how many tips some Holly Golightly offers up.
I’ve always hated getting up in the morning. Although that was sometimes a problem during my years of schooling at old Hillsville High, it became a bigger problem once I began my illustrious college career. My parents bought me a new clock-radio for my venture into the academic realm; however, a snooze alarm pretty much cancels out the clock-radio’s effectiveness since after you hit the snooze-alarm eight or nine times, it just says the heck with it and quits alarming.
Since I wanted to have plenty of time for studying and stuff … especially stuff … after classes, I usually scheduled 8 a.m. classes. That seemed like a good idea when making my schedule, but proved to be a hindrance after stuff had kept me up late the night before an early class.
One quarter, I decided to schedule later classes. That too seemed like a good idea in theory, but once again proved faulty once put into action. Although I could now sleep until 9:30 a.m., it meant that I was tied up until 5 or 6 p.m., which cut into time for stuff. So the next quarter, I returned to scheduling my classes early. I realized it didn’t matter if I started classes early or late, they were going to cut into my stuff time.
Somehow I made it through college and eventually entered the workforce. A few years later, I took a job with an afternoon paper, which meant getting up early once again. A few years after that the owners of the paper decided to go the morning route, which meant working late, extremely late. In both cases, work was cutting into my time for stuff.
Now, I am back to getting up early … hey, I count 8 a.m. early … so I decided to check out the aforementioned blog to see if the young lady had any mind-altering tips that could make me a joyful person in the morning, rather than the angry, curmudgeon I usually am.
Well, her first tip was to meditate. You know what I found out? I found out that if I meditate, I either fall asleep or, if I manage to stay awake, I get angry because I think, you know, I could have spent the last 15 minutes sleeping.
Other tips for the morning were to exercise before going to work or have a dance break. Okay, exercise is right out. It’s all I can do to lift the coffee mug to my lips in the morning much less do some jumping jacks. As for dancing, the Mistress of the Manor and I were quiet the dancers during our younger years, according to our peers, and still shake our booty at times in the confines of our abode, but dancing in the morning is akin to exercise. So therefore, it is also right out.
There are two other tips I think I need to address, the first being wear your favorite outfit and the second is to hug someone. Those tips seem innocent enough, but I presume the blog writer was not thinking of me when she penned these supposedly helpful words.
The first of those two tips, wear your favorite outfit, sounds harmless at first thought, but it all depends on what you’re favorite outfit is. I’ve had favorite outfits over the years, especially the outfit I wore to Fort Jackson for my induction into the army. My outfit consisted of gold bell-bottom pants complete with various patches of protest, my wolf head, embroidered belt, my Fabulous Furry Freak Brothers T-shirt and my American flag shoes. Although I thought that was a stunning ensemble, the army guys just weren’t that hot on it.
I now have a favorite outfit, but am hesitant to wear it to work … for several reasons. You see, my present favorite outfit is just that because of comfort, not appearance. My favorite outfit? Underpants and a T-shirt, which I strip to shortly after dinner. Now, if I wore that to work, I’m sure trouble would ensue; and if I started hugging people … well, you get the picture, and, my friends, it’s not a pretty one.