At War With Myself

(Tell the neighbors, wake the kids, LtE is posting!!!)

Sweet Jahsus ... what a tough morning today.

You see, your man Lung The Younger and I stepped out last night, to watch a football match and drink too much beer. As it's a more infrequent occurrence these days (thanks to Lung The Younger Junior's needing bathing, nappy changing, etc.), we tend to grasp onto those last few moments of the evening, and have just ... one ... more ... beer.

Of course, this morning I felt rough and took much longer than usual getting out of bed. La Doctora showed no pity and kept haranguing me to get up (for this is a spouse's role in such a situation), and it occurred to me that my first-thing-in-the-morning-self is a different being than my last-thing-before-going-to-bed-self.

No, really ... when I wake up in the morning I clutch the pillows and beg for five more minutes of sleep ... I start making elaborate calculations about how quickly I can shower, and what if I don't shave today, and I'm sure the bus will arrive just as I get to the stop this morning ...

And yet, my last-thing-before-going-to-bed-self is a bloody lunatic*.

The absolute last thing he wants to do is go to bed. There's so many fun and interesting things to do instead ... debate politics, look out the window at the city lights, or just have another beer. My first-thing-in-the-morning-self would kill him, if he could, because of all the suffering he causes. But he just goes blithely on his way, having fun, and building up a sleep deficit that he'll never pay.

Of course, I'll re-read this in the evening, and think "What a whiner ..."

Praying to make it to lunchtime,
LtE

*Note, I am writing this in the morning, when my first-thing-in-the-morning-self holds sway**.

**Can you do anything with "sway" besides hold it?