8:33 a.m.
A twinkling sound emits from my phone, the first alarm in a series of five. It seems dark outside, grey and dismal. Through the window I hear the soundscape of an urban apartment—sirens, passing chatter, traffic, and the construction.
The workers gather before dawn, climbing up their flimsy looking wooden structure in neon vests that catch dull light in the early morning. They stand at attention, hammers raised, poised to strike the moment the noise ordinance lifts. At 7 a.m. they start pounding.
By the time the confident “bang-bang” of their tools echoes through the alley outside our windows, it has more of a “tap-tap” character. Still in bed, I close my eyes and picture them as toddlers rioting against nap time, knocking together wooden bricks and toy hammers.
I hit snooze.
10:12 a.m.
Four alarms later, I am finally coming to. So much for today being the day I become a morning person.
They say to move your alarm across the room. They say to adjust your bed time. They say to “just get up!’
My arm reaches for my phone and I am offended by the cold air. I grab it and retreat beneath the striped flannel sheets.
10:26 a.m.
I have finished my trio of New York Times games: Wordle, Mini Crossword, Connections. What next? I refresh my email again (nothing of interest) and open Reddit. I burrow deeper into the sheets. At the top of my feed is a video of a tornado. It’s dark and fat, and violent according to the commenters, who know everything about each specific twister. It’s hard to gauge the threat from the video. The distant and soundless footage makes the tornado appear kind of chill as it sluggishly pushes across a field.
10:51 a.m.
Wow, it’s almost 11! I don’t know how that happened. But I know that I must need this rest or else it wouldn’t feel so good.
11:12 a.m.
I once skimmed an interview with Jenny Odell, author of How to Do Nothing. She said that the maintenance of an individual or community should be considered “productive” too, because it’s as important as anything else. “I consider sleep hugely ‘productive’ in the sense that I need it in order to live,” she said.
How to Do Nothing has won lots of awards, so I take this perspective to heart and decide that by preserving my energy and body heat I will be all the more efficient when I do get up.
11:23 a.m.
Still no fun emails.
I sit up a little more and reach for my book. But I am not committed. I flip through the pages, unbound by schedules and unable to admit that I am not yet starting my day.
I want to Get Things Done. I don’t get why my ambition won’t fuel some morning pep. The longer I lie, the worse I feel about it.
11:31 a.m.
Every night I promise to wake early, and every morning I am disappointed. The path to peace, happiness, and fulfillment is not lined with morning criticisms. So why do I set myself up to be a loser first thing?
I know how to Get Things Done, but it takes me a while. Can that be ok? Like the fat twister, I am sluggish but mighty. Amidst the pitter patter taps of the construction site, I recognize that this, too, can be a winning combination. I am a night owl and I’m going to work with what I’ve got. You can’t push a circle through a star-shaped hole. The only option left is to meet myself where I’m at, and where I’m at is in bed.
Big relate!