Or, rather, won’t rise, doesn’t shine. Me, that is. I’m going to unceremoniously blame it on my childhood, when I had to leave for school two hours earlier than class started, because that’s when my mother when to work.
I was on the high school’s 6:30 wake up schedule as a young spud all the way through ’til senior year, when I had the all too beautiful “senior privilege” of coming in a period late. Then, of course, was college, where the ultimate goal is 12 noon classes but the reality was sprinting across campus to get to my 8:30 discussion.
Spoiler: I didn’t talk much because I was half asleep.
My inability to wake up on time has plagued me for decades (2, to be specific) and shows no signs of stopping. There was a slight reprieve when the anti-depressant I started taking gave me insomnia, at least until it made me so exhausted I could barely keep my eyes open on 11 hours of sleep.
I can’t say I’m actively trying to change, either, considering I have perfected a 20 minute wake up routine in which I, basically, brush my teeth and run out the door. Who needs breakfast when that’s an extra 15 minutes of sleep? Universe knows I skip showers sometimes.
I’ve toyed with the idea of buying one of those alarms that runs away from you, but I doubt the efficiency of even that monstrosity.