27 November 2008

The Early Bird Gets The Screwed-Up DNA

I am my father's daughter.

As a youngster (like in my early 20s), I laughed right in my dad's face every time he told me rising early was GOOD, because then I had "a whole day to do everything I wanted". He chided me for "sleeping my life away." And I would laugh with the arrogance of youth at him, and his old-fashioned notions.

"You're not a farmer, Dad," I'd say. "You don't have to get up with the cows, man."

It was always a spirited bone of contention. "Early to bed, early to rise," was my dad's credo. So was "The early bird catches the worm." So was "Early to rise makes a man healthy, wealthy, and wise." Me, I didn't understand that. I WAS NOT going to bed at eight o'clock. And I'd get up when I freakin' felt like it.

But, you know, Mother Nature and her lover, Time, have a way of ruining a perfectly good young person.

As I rose through the ranks of the college-educated and career-searching, I became accustomed to waking early. In fact, I *needed* to wake up early...to feel like I'd gotten off on the right step. Pretty soon, six-thirty was no big deal. Then I had children, and time was precious, and the more of it I had, the better. So, when I could, five forty-five marked the beginning of my day.

Slowly, but surely, I have morphed into a female, less cantakerous version of my dad.

I arose from my bed this morning at 3:51 am. My mind was ready to go and start the day's tasks, but my body refused to comply. So I lay there in the cloud-like warmth of my down comforter, lounging, I guess you would say. That's when my father's words drifted into the consciousness of my mind. "...early to rise, greet the day, get some things done..."

*Mental Groan*

As it turns out, I only achieved two of the above three. I did rise early, but I did not get some things done. I flipped on the TV, and laid on the couch. I surfed...and learned there is nothing on television at four o'clock in the morning. After forty-five minutes of mind-numbing programming, I felt tired enough to go back to my bed.

So, there it was. The thumb-my-nose gesture back into the face of my upbreeding...I "wasted" three hours in bed after my paternal DNA had jolted me into a senseless early-rising.

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