I wish I was a morning person. I love the morning--the light, the quiet, the still. But I'm an early bird trapped in a night owl's body; when the time comes, all I want to do is sleep sleep sleep. That's why I like camping so much. It gets me into synch with the sun.
I wish I could wake up, undrowsy, between 6 and 7 every morning. I'd have time to hang out, read, eat breakfast, and eventually get ready for work. Instead, I've honed my morning schedule to accomodate the precise number of minutes necessary for me to brush my teeth, get dressed, grab lunch, and run out the door for the bus. It's not my favorite.
There are certain elements of my morning routine, however, about which I am very disciplined. One is making the bed. It's usually the first thing I do. Somehow, in the fuzzy, hazy first half-hour of my waking life, it gives me a sense of order and civility. If I don't have time in the morning, I'll make the bed when I get home from work, or after dinner, or even right before going to sleep. But it happens every day.
I'm also strict about sleeping every night. I've never stayed up for 24 continuous hours. If I had to pull an all-nighter in college, I'd make sure to leave myself at least 30 minutes to sleep before class. It would be light outside, my roommates would be leaving for school, and I'd put on my pajamas and go to bed. It wasn't really the sleep that mattered so much as having moments of unconsciousness to separate one day from the next. Otherwise, it just felt like the night never happened, like I was lost in the middle of an unending day.
