I didn’t have a blog post scheduled for yesterday morning and it’s just as well. For whatever reason, I didn’t get out of bed until eight o’clock.
I kind of remember waking up around six. That’s when I normally get out of bed—sometimes before. Not yesterday. I guess when I woke up; my body told me I needed some extra sleep.
I’m an early riser and have been for just about all my adult life. I want to be one of those people who can stay up late and still function well in the morning, but I’m not. I have this joke that I tell much too often. “If I don’t get my 12 hours of sleep at night, I’m a mess.” There. I told the joke again.
After I make my coffee and while drinking my first cup, I usually get to work. Either I’m working on a new column or working on my next book or I’m doing email correspondence or—as in the case this morning—writing a blog post.
Yep, I’m sitting here drinking coffee in my underwear and writing. I don’t get dressed until I have at least a couple hours of work done.
(Writing is work. I’ll write a post about this some other day.)
I think I get this being an early riser from my father. He got up even earlier than I do. On our small farm outside Vevay, Indiana, he would get up at four thirty in the morning to go milk the cows before having breakfast and driving to Lawrenceburg, Indiana. He worked on the loading docks for Schenley Distillers. He did this for over 30 years.
Even after he retired, he still got up early—not at four thirty, but around six, the time I normally get up. My mother stopped getting up with the chickens. I don’t think she ever wanted to be an early riser and she “retired” from it.
With getting up late yesterday, I felt like I had wasted a lot of my day. That won’t be the case on this Thursday. We have no roosters crowing here in Covington, but I got up right on time.
(Photo from enpowernetwork.com)