I hate mornings. And I don’t mean haha hate, like “I hate brussel sprouts.” or “I hate The Real Housewives of _______ (insert city).” or “I hate satan and sin.” I’m talking about all consuming passionate hatred.
I know this is a character flaw. (One of a small handful.) Sure, it causes strain on my marriage. Maybe my mom had to use a spray water bottle to get me out of bed in high school. I’d love to not be this way. I’ve prayed many times for God to take it from me, but perhaps it’s my curse. Maybe, like the Apostle Paul, God has seen fit to purify me by allowing this “thorn in the flesh.”
It doesn’t matter if I go to sleep at 8pm or2am. If it’s before 9 o’clock in the morning and you’re attempting to wake me up, you best be bringing your A-game, because there is a 56% chance that I’m coming up swinging. If you’re lucky enough to avoid a haymaker, then you will receive a response of minimal grunting or be completely ignored. Now don’t misunderstand. I’m not depressed. I don’t hate my life. I don’t mope around like Eeyore or nasally whine about my circumstances like Everybody Loves Raymond. I love my family and friends. I really enjoy my job for the most part. I get along well with my co-workers. I am extremely thankful for where God has placed me and how He has abundantly blessed me, but I LOVE sleep, andtomorrow morning I have a conference call at an unholy hour. I understand I work for a global company, but just as the United States is the greatest country that has ever existed and everyone everywhere should be forced to speak English with only a very slight accent, so too should the entire planet conduct business from nine to five on Central Standard Time. So tomorrow is going to be a beating that no amount of caffeine or Angry Birds can possibly overcome.
What will you be doing tomorrow at 7:30am CST?