5:15 am

Dear 5:15 am,
I hate your stinking guts. You make me vomit.You're scum between my toes.
Love,
Kara (stolen from Little Rascals, circa 1994)

Well, actually it's 4:58 am because HEAVEN forbid I actually am allowed to sleep up to the alarm. My eyes flicker open, oh my word. Is it really this early? Wasn't I just brushing my teeth like 10 minutes ago? As though they had weights on them (well they do if you consider eye boogers) my eyes sink shut again. 17 more minutes. Quietly, and with building gusto James Taylor begins to croon Fire and Rain. I don't like him anymore. Although I suppose a song on iHome is better to wake to than a teeth gritting beep. I give my morning shove to the hub to wake up and shut of the alarm (that is conveniently sounding on his side).
Can I do this? Maybe 5 more minutes? Maybe I forgot to change the clocks with daylight savings? Ha. No. Maybe I can work out after I get off work? Good try, it won't happen. I will see the couch when I walk in from the garage and like a magnet, be drawn in by its cushiony goodness and an act of sheer emergency is getting me up.
It takes every ounce of motivation I possess to roll out. Some days are harder than others. A rainy morning is nearly an impossibility.
Fumbling through the darkness because I'm a serious mole in the mornings, I manage to throw on some workout gear and grab my ipod. A quick rinse with the Listerine (heinous morning breath is not acceptable at the gym, but it's ok for your hair to be an utter rat's nest) and we are out the door.
We drive in utter silence. Neither are awake yet. I sit and contemplate ways that I could burn the most calories by doing the least amount of work. I think about the other ladies I traditionally work alongside at this time of morning and wonder how it is they can manage to look like they've been up for longer than 5 minutes. Some of them are even smiling. Sickos. I wonder if she *I affectionately call her Blondie* will actually put a shirt on over her neon Nike bra today. I continually tell myself I MUST get more songs for my workout playlist (suggestions are welcome!) and of course I never do. I'm not sure how many more times I can listen to Super Massive Black Hole by Muse.
Arrival at gym. Nope, Blondie is still rockin the spandex and bra. Just what I needed before coffee. I get my sweat on for approximately 45 minutes. I always feel better when I'm done.
The return home trip is still pretty silent, an occasional comment on how much we are glad we aren't the students out waiting for the bus at 6:30. Yuck?
By the time I get home I have exactly 50 minutes to shower, dress, primp, and eat breakfast. Not always in that order. Dress has actually come last on occasion. Hustle bustle the entire time, my trip to work begins with me running out the door purse, lunch, and coffee in hand with barely a kiss bye to the hub. Hurry hurry! You have 30 min to sit in TRAFFIC. Ugh. The only blessing being, it isn't Chicago traffic anymore. *whew!
All that to say, weekday mornings are a beast. There aren't words to express how good the weekend feels to sleep in until a whopping 8 or 8:30. Apparently as you get older, your ability to sleep until noon just *poof disappears. Why oh WHY?
Because of these mornings, I look about like this by 9:30 PM

Oh, and hey Blondie? I have a really great Chase County High School T shirt I'd be happy to donate. Just sayin.
Amen.

Kara