I have NEVER been good at mornings. One summer between years of college I actually turned nocturnal to avoid them. I was always late to high school, and before that middle school, and before that, I remember very distinctly standing in the line to sign in as late in elementary school. When I had a job that required me to be there at 6:45am daily I would eat breakfast and play this game I made up where I would call people’s faces to mind and decide whether I would kick them in the face in order to be able to go back to sleep.
All year I have been concocting New Plans which would aid me in finally kicking my morning problem. There was the Coffeemaker plan where I programmed Pete’s old coffeemaker to have coffee brewed at 7:20am. The idea there was that knowing the coffee was already made would motivate me to get out of bed swiftly.
There was the shower plan where I had to shower in the morning and it had to be before Pete’s shower at 7:30 otherwise I was ruining his morning plan.
This morning I started a new New Plan. The Run with Liz and her Friend Whitney Plan. My friend Liz told me that she and her friend Whitney run Monday, Wednesday and Friday mornings at 5:30. They meet at Liz’s house and Liz only lives 10 blocks from me. She invited me on Tuesday night. I accepted on Saturday, and by Sunday I was psyched. I was thinking about all of the amazing stuff I was gonna accomplish between 6:30 when I was done running, and 9, when I go to work. I would finally build that bridge! Finish that novel! Patch the crotch of my butt-stud jeans!
Like with any visionary’s vision, there’s been doubt and there have been haters. Namely one. But I ignored him and soared high in my hot air balloon of hope.
This New Plan is by far the fastest dying New Plan of them all. I like Liz. Liz is great. Whitney seemed cool and her dog is great, but 5:30 sucks so hard. I got home at 6:15 and there wasn’t a damn thing I wanted to do with my time. I did not want to draw or eat or even caffeinate. All I wanted to do was get back in bed. I crawled in besides Pete, still wearing my sad little running clothes. Pete woke up just enough to ask what I was doing. I said, “you’re allowed to laugh at me.”