Most days during the week, getting out of bed seems like a bad idea. Sure, I will have to get out of bed at some point to go to the bathroom or because I am hungry, but that is a natural progression. I am talking about getting up for work in the morning. Getting out of bed to get ready to go someplace where you would rather not be.
I know there are folks who love their jobs and enjoy getting out of bed to go to work. I am not one of those folks. On a workday I have a tendency to put off getting out of bed as long as possible. There is, however, a problem with that tendency that goes by the name of Jasper. Jasper, it seems, has no problem with getting up at any time of the day or night. He is particularly good at getting up between 6:00 AM and 6:30 AM and sticking his nose on any exposed part of my flesh to let me know that it is time to let him, and Ginger, outside. On weekdays this also means breakfast for the dogs, and cats, turtle and the fishes. On weekends I sometimes get up to let the dogs out and quickly get back into bed. Sometimes I stay up. But staying up on weekends feels different than getting up on weekdays. Perhaps because I don’t have to immediately start getting ready for work. I can sit down and watch TV, or do some work in the yard, or on my computer. On weekends I have a choice. On weekdays I have a routine.
I once worked from 10:30 AM to 7:30 PM at an old job. I could wake up at 9:00 in the morning well rested even if I had been partying the night before. I had time to shower and watch an episode of divorce court while I got ready for work. I usually got to work early and had time to settle in before I started working. My lunch came after the typical lunch rush so I was free to eat wherever I wanted. Traffic was not as bad when I left for home. I ate around 8:00 PM. By 9:00 PM I was free to go out and party until one or two in the morning, go home, and still get enough sleep to easily start the cycle anew the next day.
My routine is set by the dictates of industrial age factory work. It is silly that work hours are set according to the dictates of an age long past and now obsolete. I am bound to a schedule that has me getting to work hours before I am fully awake. I have to eat quickly at crowded restaurant because the geniuses who oversee the work of the masses let everybody out to lunch at the same time. I am also fighting traffic to and from work. None of this makes any sense when you consider that I interface with nobody other than my coworkers throughout the day. My bosses say it is because they need coverage, of what I could not say. They stuck in habits that stopped making sense years ago.