NO! I roll over and hit the alarm for the énième fois. (Doesn't that sound better than "umpteenth"?)
Oh, how I hate waking up in the morning. I know I'm not alone in this feeling, but in my case it's a constant struggle on a daily basis. For as long as I can remember, I have NOT been a morning person. The nights never seem to be long enough, alarm clocks are my enemy, and for some reason all I've ever wanted to do is roll over and dig deeper under the covers. Especially in the dead of winter, although this winter I can't exactly say it's been bitter cold -- on the contrary, it's been much milder this year than in years past. But of course the humidity in our bedroom doesn't exactly help.
I am most definitely a creature of the night, although not in the way you might imagine: most times I like using the late hours to read, pore over new recipes, watch a great movie, or catch up on creative things of all sorts. I don't tend to watch very much TV, not here in France anyway, but there always seems to be some distraction or another keeping me away from going to bed. Even household tasks that simply never get done at any other hour...
But then in the morning, DAMN do I regret my nocturnal habits. And I promise myself, once again, that tonight will be different; tonight I will finally get to bed at a "decent" hour, as my mom would say. But what exactly is decent, honestly?
And Saturday mornings? The local market beckons me, with all the wonderful things it has to offer, and if I don't get up early enough, I won't be able to take advantage of it all -- I've been caught out one too many times, with the veal and pork roasts long gone, the fresh cod sold out at the fishmonger's... So I trudge on down the street, and in most cases, by the time I'm there and swept up in the atmosphere, I'm glad I made the effort. Especially when I'm able to reward myself with a small bundle of flowers to brighten up the apartment on my way home.
But those first few steps are the hardest. As is the case with most things, I guess. I remember back in college, my clock-radio crackling on bright and early, reaching over to hit snooze a gazillion times, and my roommate finally throwing pillows across the room to wake me out of my (study-induced, unfortunately, not alocohol-induced!) stupor. It could sometimes take a freight train... And then when I'd wobble out of bed, I couldn't help thinking that a freight train had run over me in my sleep.
Even when I was a little girl, as far back as I can recall I was a little nightowl... I'd sneak back downstairs to watch a late movie on the weekends, after my parents were fast asleep. And snow days? I lived for them as much as the next kid, especially if it meant staying bundled up in bed for as long as possible while all the other kids were out throwing snowballs and building snowmen. If the DJ's voice droned out the name of my school on his mile-long list before 7:00 a.m., it was back to sleep for me -- and I couldn't get there fast enough.
They say old habits die hard -- well, in my case this is one habit that isn't about to die anytime soon. And what of the early bird who gets the worm? Well, you can keep that worm; I'll find something better later on. And I'll keep the marmotte moniker, too, thank you; I have a reputation to maintain!