It's Monday? Really? Are you sure?

This morning the alarm went off and woke me out of a very deep, restful sleep. I hate that. I REALLY REALLY HATE THAT. I woke up angry and confused, wondering what day it was and why the alarm was going off since I was secretly willing it to be Saturday. Unfortunately, I have not perfected the power of willing days of the week into weekend days, and so I faced the fact that it was Monday and promptly hit the snooze button.

Seven minutes later, the alarm goes off again. It's still Monday. I turned off the alarm and decided I'd count backwards from 10 and then get up. I don't remember counting past 7, but I do remember starting to count backwards two or three times. It wasn't working, so I thought if I started from 20, I'd be more rested by the time I got to one and would jump out of bed and greet the day. Didn't happen. Counting from 20 is even less useful than counting from 10.

I finally dragged myself out of bed, but it was difficult. Maybe as the days get longer and the sun comes up earlier and the planets are in just the right alignment and the cicadas are in the right brood distribution and our sheets are less comfy and more scratchy, I'll have an easier time getting out of bed. Then again, probably not.