Oh I hate to get up in the Mooorning!

Why can't I get to work on time?

I'm sure my boss would love to know the answer to that question too. Hell...I'd like to know the answer to that question.

This morning...I woke up with the dog laying on my back. I don't usually sleep face down...but I must have rolled over and eventually Rerun must have thought..."Hey...Mom is warm...I think I'll sleep on her."

But I didn't wake up for it. Sometimes I don't wake up for my alarm. Sometimes I sit in bed in a semi-conscious state for almost an hour because my brain was aroused at a time when the wonders of Effexor made it incredibly flush with serotonin. I sit in my half-coma as Tim hands me my coffee and glasses.

So I wait. Wait for whatever magic is in the coffee to kick in. Wait for that time when I can think in a coherent sentence. Sometimes I read a magazine...and after I feel I can actually FOLLOW along with what I'm reading...I start moving for the day. Sometimes I load or unload the dishwasher...those are GOOD days when I can actually attempt a physical task.

Where did the morning sleepy paranoia come from? It came from the sleety morning when there was an accident on 290 so I decided to take Ridgeland/Nagle to work. I was somewhere around Fullerton when a car hydroplaned in front of me...and in my half-asleep state I overcompensated....popped the curb...splashed latte ALL OVER MY FUCKING CAR...and "woke up" with my car on the sidewalk. Right next to a bus shelter.

Three feet...and I would have swerved into a bus shelter full of people.

And ever since then driving to work in the morning has been an anxious...nerve wracking and disappointing experience. Disappointing because I want to be on time...but panic and nervousness that only comes from having that near-near-death-experience happen just gets in the way. The doctor has me waking up at 6am. I have this list of crap I'm supposed to do that I never get done but try. Sometimes I forget to shower. Sometimes I lose my keys or socks or whatever. And some days...the dog sleeps on me and I'm just too warm and calm and comfortable to get out of bed and face the day.

Patchwork

This morning...I woke up a burrito. You know...when you wrap the blankets around you and roll to the left...roll to the right...twist and shout...and then the dog can lick you on the face as much as he wants to because your arms are unceremoniously clamped to your side...

One of those mornings...

But some of it is my new quilt. My birthday quilt that my Mommy made for me and finished six months 'better late than never' late.

It's great. My quilt. Because my Mommy made it...and it's purple...and it's the perfect weight for a summer blanket...

Mom has been wanting to quilt forever. But work has pretty much prevented her from putting her time into it. She seems to have just about enough focus to do one sort of "project" thing at a time...and work was taking up all of her energy. So now...quilts. She made me a weird sort of lap quilt covered in sailboats and fish...and now my purple quilt. And later this month...she's taking a class in T-shirt quilts...and called me with the long list of all the Snoopy T-shirts of mine that she's had saved....since I was like in the eighth grade.

Scary...what your Mommy will save of yours....

But I wonder what she must have thought every time she moved the 40 or so T-shirts she'd been saving for that rainy day where I magically wanted them again. Wanted something that she'd done for me. It has to suck...being a parent. For so many years you're the center of another human being's world...and then...you're like yesterday's newspaper.