Last Saturday, I had to get up early. REAL early. Like, before 11. It may help you to understand this situation if you know that conversely, going to bed before 2am is incredibly early (and also impractical, because I am most productive when nocturnal). I hate the morning SO much. When it's "early," or I haven't had enough sleep, I turn into a death-cretin, whom it is in the best interest of everyone in the world to avoid.
Anyway, I had to be at an all-day meeting at 8 in the morning. I had gone to sleep at about 3:30, because I was working on a project (for the meeting, coincidentally) the night before. The morning starts off with a really wonderful upper when my iPhone remembers that it has the capability to impersonate a foghorn when I want it to wake me up. I always wish it would flake out on me and forget to follow through, but the damned thing is so reliable. So it goes off.
My closed-eyelid rage, on a scale of 1 to Wolverine, is already at a 3.6.
When I wake up in the morning, I am pretty freaking blind. I have awful night vision, and I never ever remember where I put my glasses before I went to sleep the previous night. Usually, the first thing I do is go to the living room to flip the lights so I can begin my glasses search. Now, my apartment is definitely ABOVE hoarders-status (I don't have any dead cats under my couch cushions or anything like that), but it's often far from clean. This makes for a dark obstacle course in which I am likely to dramatically injure myself and curse repeatedly. A typical morning goes something like this: (black objects are obstacles)
Total "dammit" count in this situation generally approaches 146.
To exacerbate the problem, a terrorist lives in my apartment. She is small, furry brown-and-black, weighs about 10 pounds, and meows obnoxiously until she gets fed in the morning, even if there is leftover food in her bowl. She is ABSOLUTELY 100% aware of the fact that I am batty-blind. In fact, half of the time, SHE is the one who hides my glasses on me. Yes, the CAT hides my glasses. It is her crack to knock them off the desk, or table, or counter onto the floor. Furthermore, she loves a good attack. And I don't mean that cutesy shit, either, I mean full-on teeth-and-claws-in-your-feet-sneaking-around-like-it's-her-job attack. And she KNOWS I hate it in the morning.
So this morning, my journey to the lightswitch went something like this:
My closed-eyelid rage, on a scale of 1 to Wolverine, is already at a 3.6.
When I wake up in the morning, I am pretty freaking blind. I have awful night vision, and I never ever remember where I put my glasses before I went to sleep the previous night. Usually, the first thing I do is go to the living room to flip the lights so I can begin my glasses search. Now, my apartment is definitely ABOVE hoarders-status (I don't have any dead cats under my couch cushions or anything like that), but it's often far from clean. This makes for a dark obstacle course in which I am likely to dramatically injure myself and curse repeatedly. A typical morning goes something like this: (black objects are obstacles)
To exacerbate the problem, a terrorist lives in my apartment. She is small, furry brown-and-black, weighs about 10 pounds, and meows obnoxiously until she gets fed in the morning, even if there is leftover food in her bowl. She is ABSOLUTELY 100% aware of the fact that I am batty-blind. In fact, half of the time, SHE is the one who hides my glasses on me. Yes, the CAT hides my glasses. It is her crack to knock them off the desk, or table, or counter onto the floor. Furthermore, she loves a good attack. And I don't mean that cutesy shit, either, I mean full-on teeth-and-claws-in-your-feet-sneaking-around-like-it's-her-job attack. And she KNOWS I hate it in the morning.
So this morning, my journey to the lightswitch went something like this:
I stop in my tracks. I know that the little slut is on the prowl.
The green eyes disappear. I cautiously proceed.
I halt. I know she's out for blood, now. I know she knows I'm defenseless.
Terrified, I press on...
I haven't seen the eyes in a minute, now. This is a bad sign. This means she's gearing up for the kill. I keep inching forward.
AND THEN...OUT OF NOWHERE...
So the little bitch wins this round. And now my foot is bleeding.
You can see how my mood is just skyrocketing exponentially.
Next comes the dreaded shower part. The plumbing in our apartment had to have been installed by Screwtape, or Wormwood, or somebody, to ensure that I, the Patient, would be sufficiently tortured any time I felt the need for cleanliness. It takes about 1 hour and 36 minutes for the water to heat up to something past liquid nitrogen. At that point, it immediately jumps to the other end of the spectrum, where it vaporizes anything that comes within a 10-foot radius. It takes a very skilled and tender flicking of the faucet one way or the other to perfectly titrate the temperature so that it is at least tolerably scalding or freezing.
That stupid little FURBALL of a b**ch dares to think that she can get an attack in while I'm showering. Without thinking twice, I kill her with the precision eye-laser beams that I gain as a superpower during periods of extreme necessity.
Brian must have heard me chuckle in satisfaction over the cat's defeat, or heard her yelp, or something, because he came into the bathroom. Just to be safe, I figured I'd nip any shenanigans in the bud.
Me: WHATDOYOUTHINKYOU'REDOING.
Brian: ...I have to get ready too, you know...we BOTH have to be at the meeting at eight...
Me: Well fine...BUT DON'T DO ANYTHING YOU'LL REGRET.
B: I just have to pee...is that okay?
Me: Okay. BUT YOU'D BETTER NOT REGRET IT!
I eventually get my lethargic self out of the shower. Oh, right. The management hasn't turned on our building's heat yet. This QUICKLY becomes apparent as I search for a towel while my blood congeals. I start to become hypothermic and know that I must act quickly or perish. I finally find a towel and clothes and start to get dressed. Now I'm starting to stress about our timeline, as I have a tendency to get out the door just by the skin of my teeth.
Me: WHAT TIME IS IT?
B: Just pretend like it's 8 o'clock already!
Me: ...mrrgrhfmmfrbghrbrgrblr...asshole.
B: What did you say?
Me: NOTHING! I SAID I CAN'T WAIT TO LEAVE!
Ladies and gentleman, at this point it's official: it's a war zone in here.
We ended up making it out of the house on time. But that definitely did not mean that anyone was off the hook from my blinding morning wrath. Take the drive to the theatre (where the meeting was located), for instance:
Fortunately, the folks at the meeting were prepared for the beast that was coming for them. A peace offering of Chex mix, monkey bread, and Capri sun awaited our arrival. I accepted their truce and called a ceasefire. How can you be spiteful after a Capri Sun, after all?
(Every time I drink a Capri Sun, I think of that Nickelodeon show from the 90s, The Secret Life of Alex Mack...remember how she could melt into a Capri Sun puddle and go under doors and stuff? I'd almost be jealous if I didn't have emergency eye laser superpowers of my own.)
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