It is a difficult life being a sleeper inner in a world of getter uppers.
For the most part my friends are getter uppers. By the time I enter consciousness, my compatriots, scattered hither and yon, have taken significant bites out of the day. Dogs have been walked, tea leisurely savoured, clothes washed, The Globe and Mail consumed, muffins baked. It goes on and on.
I know this because I get up early to feed my impatient dog. Before I crawl back into bed, I can hear the familiar buzz of a world awake, both literally and figuratively.
In a small fishing village, five o'clock isn't that early. It is the tides that tell the time. For the many farmers that load down my family tree, the day's schedule was guided by the needs of the animals, the demands of the land and the control of the weather.
Why should this matter to me ? I don't know, but it does.
I put much of the responsibility on the long gone shoulders of Calvin and John Knox that shaped the Protestant Work Ethic with the strong power of social pressure.
It is a decree of my grandfather, long gone before I was born, that has taken root in my psyche. "Five to seven victory, five after seven defeat." I can't seem to rid myself of the concept.
I am a nine o'clock kind of gal. I go for a leisurely morning awakening,unfortunately lightly coated with strong, flavourful sense of guilt.
Thankfully, nightwear and daywear, these days is almost indistinguishable from each other. I can almost convince myself, that the early riser at my door doesn't necessarily guess my morning secret.
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