I have started to write early in the mornings in hopes of getting into a habit of writing. That said, in the spirit of disclosure, today is the first such morning and I’ve squandered almost all of it. I say that I’ll start writing in the mornings quite often, but rarely do I actually follow through. I do it sporadically, but Anne Lamott encourages us to get into the habit, and that’s where I fall short – the habit.
I was supposed to wake up at 5:30 and now it’s 6:19 and in eleven minutes Andrew’s alarm will go off. It’ll sound like aliens are invading our apartment. He’ll let it go for a minute or two before turning it off and then another alarm, this time it will sound like someone is practicing playing scales, will go off again. He’ll finally, slowly, deliberately, get out of bed around 6:45 and shuffle into the living room. Forrest will greet him loudly, meowing indignantly. I think what he’s trying to say is, “I’ve been up for hours, why haven’t you gotten up yet? Man up!” And since Forrest doesn’t speak English (or human for that matter) I guess we’ll never know.