I'll see you in the morning time

This morning, as is my custom, I refused to get up early.  I even have an easy encouragement now, beyond the alarms I allow to go off every five minutes at varying times.  Even beyond the multiple times I wake up, often having to use the bathroom, often at 3, and again at 5, and again at 6.....  I have a cat, as of about two weeks ago, who loves to rustle around in the stacks of papers I am procrastinating on sorting and filing, to knock over items, to pounce on my feet as they move for new comfort under the covers, and to come over and be petted, and in turns to groom my fingers (which I try not to stop, despite the tickle, because it's so sweet).  She tries to help me wake up, but I eventually push her off the bed (and maybe cuss at her a bit, but just a little) and roll over, convincing myself anew that early rising would ruin me for the day, because I was irresponsible the night before and stayed up too late.

 The morning after St. Paddy's celebrations as he, his girlfriend and I ate breakfast, my friend Allen was telling me about his transition into life as an early-riser.  He has written his first novel, he said, in the morning-times before work.  I protested that my brain comes alive at night, that it's too hard to get out of bed, all the usual things I've been convinced of.  He countered that he once thought the same, but that getting up three hours before having to be at work has shown him that his brain comes even more alive than when he was a night owl.

I know I have no real excuse, except for bad habits.  I actually spent about a week after that conversation trying to wake up at 6ish.  I got my parents in on it; my mom called every day around 6:10 for a wee chat to help me wake up.  I got up really early on one of those days, enjoyed a walk, some breakfast, a bit of a book, and being awake when starting work.  But that was the only day.

This morning, I had time for my shower and a quick cup of espresso from my aeropress, but found my mind racing with thoughts.  I hurriedly jotted down my rant, and as I moved to the car, mentally kicked myself.  I had denied myself the time to write, and had enough ideas that I could have written some sort of essay, or something I would have liked.  Stupid.  Stupid stupid stupid.

I am determined to begin to not let bad habits rule me.

The discouraging thing is that I've felt this way for a while, and there are too many of them to defeat all at once.  I have to remind myself of the little pieces of progress, encourage myself that when I backslide and my room gets messy again or I stop cooking and produce goes bad, or whatever it is, that it doesn't mean I can't catch back up and keep improving!  My vision and desire is to be healthier, more conscious, more put-together, more reliable, and so on and so forth, by the end of the year.  That gives me time.  That gives me no reason to spiral into self-disappointment.

Periodically I remember that I haven't blogged in a while, and how much I like to.  Then I write a silly, self-reflective piece like this.  Then, I hope to move on to other musings, perhaps more interesting and useful.  Let's see what happens.