Waking Up

I’ve never been particularly good at waking up. My alarm clock always beeps and buzzes at 5:45 am, my phone chirps to life at 6:00, then 6:15, and finally 6:30. I slam my fingers around on top of it’s keys in a futile attempt to shut it off for eternity. Here’s a hint, it doesn’t work. 6:53 usually rolls around with my hips, as my eyes lay sight on the clock. I murmur obscenities while throwing on the nearest clothes to my bed, not stopping to brush my hair, swinging the toothbrush through my cheeks and shoving my feet into winter boots, sometimes forgetting a coat in late December. I leave the house by 7:00, class starting precisely 24 minutes later. I’ve showered before school approximately four times this year.

At the beggining of each school year I make a promise to myself that I know I will not keep. I will wake up on time. I will get dressed properly every morning. I will eat breakfast. This is silly because I know that I will never accomplish this goal, and will always curse the principal for starting school at such an ungodly hour.

On weekends I find myself tossing around under the covers before sunrise, and eventually giving in to my ridiculous circadian rhythms. I’ll dull down my music to merely a humm and tap my toes around the chilly floor. Sometimes I’ll make a cup of tea or coffee, being careful not to make noise in the kitchen. My house is now well lit with the orangey light of the early winter morning. I’ll whistle a melody to myself, and wake someone up.

I have become very comfortable with my singing voice as either a contralto or high soprano.