Not Very Lark-ish
There is a disparity, it seems, among the people of the world. We can be divvied up and sliced and diced into neat categories every which way to Sunday.
One of those particular designations is on my mind lately.
This new job of mine brings many challenges, not the least of which is a long commute. An hour on the train means I must rise in the small hours of the morning in order to make it to work on time.
Hours so small I never even knew they existed.
Some people are morning people. They thrive on the early hours and always say chipper things like, “I get so much done in the early morning hours!”
According to Wikipedia, we call those sorts of people larks.
I do not get things done in the early morning hours. Early morning hours for me consist of some grunting, some grumbling and a lot of shuffling.
You know how when they turn on stadium lights, they don’t come on right away. From switch flip to on to full light power takes quite a bit of time. (this recent power debacle at the Super Bowl, by way of example.)
That is me. I’m a stadium light standard. In the early hours the light switch might go to on, but it will take until about 10:00 and then *flink!* the lights finally pop on and everything in my brain starts churning.
Before that it’s a slow plod with lots of flickering.
The other morning I was chatting with a lady I work with. She veritably chirruped when telling me how much of a morning person she is. She asked me what time I get up. Through clenched teeth, as though I could hardly say the words, I told her 5:30am.
“Oh, really? At 5:30 this morning I was already at the gym having a great workout!”
“Good for you,” was my reply, still through clenched teeth.
I am just not a larky morning person and I’m not ever going to be. I’m a night person. I like the nighttime. It feels good.
Night creeps in on soft furry little paws, slowly dimming the lights and making everything more sultry and lush. Night rolls in like a blues ballad from John Lee Hooker or BB King. Powerful and meaningful perfect three bar rhythm as the backdrop, while everything slows down a little and everyone takes their time. Evening is red wine and deep conversation and big plates of seafood pasta that fill both the belly and the soul.
Morning is a whole other thing. Morning clangs in with bells and horns like a one man marching band and turns the lights on hi-beam and shines those lights right into my eyes. The spotlight lands on the To Do list where every single action item dances an over caffeinated jig like a Chihuahua mainlining albuterol.
Morning clangs to the rhythm of euro techno music as the backdrop until I hold my hands over my ears and beg for it to stop, please stop, I’m asking you so nicely to stop.
I don’t care how many mornings my alarm clock forces me out of bed while it is still dark outside, I’m just never going to be a morning person. I don’t even want to be.
Let the larks get their worms in the morning. This owl will hunt something up real nice tonight.
Image Copyright National Geographic photo galleries. All rights reserved.
Excellent! Thank you, from a grunter, grumbler and shuffler.
When I first left Michigan to be the police reporter at the Texarkana Gazette I entered a strange world full of people like your obnoxious chirping comrade. Any casual conversation before noon was only begun in order to work into it how early you had gotten up.
Chihuahua mainlining albuterol.
One day, I predict, college freshmen will be using that phrase and variations thereon.
Sing it, Brother Frank! Cheers to us, I’ll meet you at Happy Hour, that’ll be right in our prime part of the day!