On Christmas Day,
it's easy to wake up. Even at age 25 I have the residual Pavlovian desire to get out of bed.
Each morning, my ability to get out of bed is determined by a single factor- I am more likely to wake fully if there is an impetus. I do not require a large amount of motivation. Usually the thought of breakfast brings a smile to my face, and I hop up to hunt and gather. Other times it's the prospects that are held by the particular day. Out-of-the-ordinary events give me this charge, so do projects I am eager to attend to. Novel variations to my usual routine are instrument in making me a chipper person straight out of the gate.
I cannot attribute this phenomenon to my upbringing or genetics. I feel that I have, from a young age, cultivated the general ability to get excited about small things. I feel this talent has served me well. I do not suffer from depression, malaise or constipation.
The flipside of my sunny morning persona is the darker morning persona. When I have to get up before the sun, and turning on the lights hurts my eyes, I am not happy. If I have to do so because I have an unpleasant task ahead of me, I am really not happy. This tends to require a superior breakfast, consisting of more than three things. Usually I am content with a breakfast of just three things, but on these dark mornings (both literally and figuratively) I require more. This rights my spirits, and I return to neutral.
In between chipper and cranky lies a strange land. Waking up neutral can be splenetic because it offers the smallest thing (referred to above, as I am sensitive to small things) the opportunity to unsettle me.
Ah, yes, we come to today's observation. My first task this morning was to expel the several cups of beer left in my system from kickball the night before. I sat blinking in the harsh light, using this down time to gather my early thoughts and arrange my morning. First on the list was to change my tampon. As I use OB tampons, I have a much more intimate experience introducing the little white bullet.
Old 'pon out, new 'pon in — wait. What? No.
It was too early for to instantly comprehend the situation, but just as slowly as my eyes adjusted to the light, I realized that there was a second tampon, a magic bullet, up in my honey pot.
Shocking. As I pulled out the new tampon and began to envelope myself in myself (i.e. trawl for God-know-how-old tampon) I began to recognize the feeling I was having.
"Fucking great- now I'm all unsettled."
It took a bowl of cereal, apple cider and a scone to right this ship.
*author's note: Cereal and milk count as two things.