“The older generation thought nothing of getting up at five every morning – and the younger generation doesn’t think much of it either.”
~John J. Welsh
It’s been three days since J. started his job and I started showing up at work in 6:30am. Three dark, long days.
I am not built for early mornings. It is a source of great hilarity to my mother that to this day that when I first lurch downstairs for sustenance during visits, I communicate mostly through snarls and slanted one eyed glares. J. finds my morning crawl towards consciousness equally amusing. He’ll stir the pot with questions like, “Do you love me yet?” and when I growl, “No,” he howls with laughter and steers me towards the kitchen. I have a somewhat fuzzy but still correct memory of grunting, “I. Hate. Happiness.” on one particularl holiday morning. The plain and simple truth is that I’m subhuman before 8am and even then things can be iffy until 9.
On the other hand – I’ve only got twenty-four days at the PD. Not that I’m counting.