I love sleeping.
If I could marry sleeping, I would. As long as I could curl up for a nap during the wedding ceremony.
But, for various pain-in-the-ass reasons, I’m looking to become a Morning Person.
Even better: A Morning EXERCISE Person.
Until now, my workouts have been saved for after work, or not at all. Except for a brief period in summer when I was all enthusiastic and jog-y, I’ve always preferred getting sweaty in the gym at night.
So to aid my mission, I asked Old Man Google. ‘How does one become a Morning Exercise Person, dear Google?’ I ventured, with my reading glasses perched on my nose and my head tilted at a quizzical angle.
And the advice was bullshit. Believe me. I tried it.
“Place your alarm clock across the room, so you have to get out of bed to turn it off.”
So I did. I got out of bed and turned off my alarm. And then I turned around, and GUESS WHAT? Do you know what was still on the other side of my room? My bed. Still warm, still delicious, still easy to climb back into and fall asleep without a single fuck given. So I did.
“Turn your alarm into a funky song that will get your adrenalin pumping.”
I tried waking up to what is indisputably the funkiest song in the history of mankind, Uptown Funk. And now I hate Bruno Mars. I hate him personally, with a vitriol so focussed and so strong that it scares me. It’s not his fault, he was just trying to fill his cup and put some liquor in it. I was the one who made him do it at 6.15 a.m on my bedside table.