Rise and shine

I guess I should rephrase: I’m a morning person once I’m up and at ‘em. Before I get out of bed, it’s anyone’s guess what might happen. It takes a lot of coaxing for me to drag my ass out of bed every morning.

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I’m a morning person. I like watching the sunrise and drinking my first cup of coffee without being rushed. But it wasn’t always this way. I’m a morning person because my favorite things happen in the morning, or, rather, because morning is the time to do them if you want to beat thunderstorms and traffic.

I guess I should rephrase: I’m a morning person once I’m up and at ‘em. Before I get out of bed, it’s anyone’s guess what might happen. It takes a lot of coaxing for me to drag my ass out of bed every morning. Here is an incomplete list of things I have told half-asleep-morning-me when my alarm has sounded:

  • You can take a nap later! (almost never happens)
  • Really, like a good long nap! (nope)
  • Better yet, you’ll go to bed at six o’clock tonight.
  • Just call your friends and tell them you’re not coming. You’re totally sick.
  • Okay, no, you got a flat tire on the way there. Your binding broke. Your derailleur is totally messed up.
  • Maybe no one would even notice if you just didn’t show up?
  • Is it raining? It might be raining.
  • Not raining. Are there thunderstorms in the forecast? Because you’ve really been trying to be more conservative lately.
  • Check your phone. Maybe someone else already bailed.

Generally speaking, no one else has already bailed. If I have any messages at all, they’re from my friend Elizabeth, and they’re just a bunch of burrito emojis.

Sidebar: Breakfast burritos (truly, the most perfect vessel for hot sauce imaginable) make up probably about 80% of what actually gets me out of bed on any given morning, regardless of whether I’m going to eat one. I’m just glad to live in a world where they exist.

So usually, after all that, I think about breakfast burritos—sometimes it’s the epic adventure I’m about to have, or, occasionally, I cheat on breakfast burritos and hope for waffles—and I get my ass out of bed.

The thing is, I guess, it doesn’t really matter what it is that gets me out of bed, does it? Some reasons are admittedly nobler than others—most of them probably trump Tapatío—but it matters more what you do once you’re up.

Bonus points if it’s something that beats work, like, you know, climbing mountains.

Or shoveling eggy potato green chile goodness into your face with whatever utensil (hands, of course; it’s definitely hands) gets it there fastest.

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