Or rather, I can't seem to.
For the past couple of weeks, I have woken up mere minutes before my bus has arrived, and as such, have spent the day looking a bit like a mop with clothes on. Just barely. The routine is well-known to my Better Half.
Me: Shit! Shit shit shit shit shit.
BH: (waking up) Mraough?
Me: What is wrong with me? What is wrong with me? Why can't I wake up to the alarm like normal people? WHAT is my PROBLEM?
Me: (running around frantically) My pants! Where are my pants? And my shirt! Where is my shirt? WHERE ARE MY SOCKS?
BH: On your hands.
Me: Ah. Yes. Well.... This is awkward.
But maybe my problem isn't so much the waking as it is the sleeping. I am, after all, a night owl by nature. I would be happy as a clam if I could go to bed at 2am every night, getting all of my cooking and Jon Stewart-ing out of the way with lots of time to spare. Maybe then I would get to play some guitar, or do some reading, or attend a concert that is not designed for children with 8pm bedtimes. Perhaps I would do arts and crafts to fetter the time away, or maybe even meet some friends at a pub for a casual beverage. With an early shift, however, this is not much of an option.
Try telling my brain that.
Now I am considering the most drastic options available.
1. Put all my lights on a timer so they turn off at 10pm and do not turn back on.
2. Attach restraints to the bed so that I don't get up to water my plants (don't get any ideas).
3. Assign myself some homework. That always used to put me to sleep. Remember Historical Theory and Method class? Neither do I.
4. Purchase a second alarm clock.
Sigh. I know. Obviously number two.
But on a lighter note, the album is still going really well. We had an uber-productive session last night, and the poverty (cough cough) I MEAN LIGHT at the end of the tunnel is shining through like a big ol' sun. More news soon. For now, I will try to catch my bus.