Mornings have potential.
Like if the rest of the world, aka my minions, my animals, my hubble, didn’t wake up until I flipped some magical switch to signal to the world that I have finally had enough coffee, peace and quiet and perhaps a nap too.
I lack such a switch, and instead my mornings go like this: I wake up and tip-toe around making coffee and smuggling chocolate. I sit down, and stare at a loading computer screen until my eyes decide to somewhat wake up. And then mid cup of coffee a great idea will hit me, so I curse at my interwebs for loading all too slowly and begin to mash out my award-winning thoughts onto the screen. Then the fates giggle and destroy any thought process I had. It will all start with a minion waking from their peaceful sleep. And then there are noises, loud crashes, toilets flushing away my peace and quiet, alerting the dogs that it’s time to remind me that they too can be loud and demanding, which wakes the other minion, which wakes the hubble, whom decides food is needed and steals my coffee, which breaks any single chance of me remembering what my great award-winning idea was.
I could be famous if mornings were on my side.
Or if I figured out how to turn xanax into a gas and feed it through our air vents. (not that I would ever do that)