Testy, Testy

We all know that mornings aren't exactly my thing. It's at night when I'm at my best. I'm funnier. I'm more alert. I'm thinking clearly. I hash out the days, weeks, months ahead. I can get an idea of where I've been and where I'm headed. I'm a night owl and no matter what I do that's just the way it is.

Mornings, on the other hand, are just painful. I know there are some of you who will say that mornings are bad because I stay up late--that it's a cycle. Maybe so. But even when I try to go to bed earlier, I'm largely unsuccessful. I toss and turn. I stare at the ceiling. My mind reels and I get no sleep at all. Consequently, I still have a bad morning.

In the morning I feel down. I know that I should feel excited about stepping into a new day, but I don't. I can only think about all the things left undone the day before. How busy I'll be at work. Do we have anything to cook for dinner or do I need stop at the grocery store (which, by the way, I also hate)? What do I need to do before the sun goes down? What can wait until later?

All that is to say that I can be a little testy in the morning. This is something that I know about myself, and I've known it since I was a child. I don't even pretend that I can or want to speak to anyone prior to a shower. I've learned I just have to have that time for me before I have time for anyone else. But, as soon as I'm out, I try to control my tendency for bad mornings by saying a loud and cheery "Good Morning" or by singing "Good morning, good morning. We talked the whole night through. Good morning, good morning to you and you and you and you" from "Singing in the Rain." It usually works. It cheers me up about the day ahead, and I start things off with a bang.

Not this morning. I overslept. I wished it was Saturday, not Friday. I thought of my dad, which made me a bit sad. I couldn't get ready in my bathroom due to the drop cloths, one coat of paint and no mirror. So, I showered in Dave's bathroom without my stuff, put on makeup sitting on the bedroom floor in front of the bathroom mirror, and dried my hair with no mirror at all. Things just weren't going my way.

That's when Dave started talking about what to paint this weekend, and that he thinks we should just paint over the hinges on the kitchen cabinet doors because the three coats of paint already on them makes the hinges nearly impossible to remove. I was processing this information when he said, "Painting those cabinets is going to take most of the weekend anyway." This is when I said, "Well, Dave, no one ever said it was going to be easy." Those of you who know me can just hear it coming out of my mouth, can't you? Or if you know my mother, you can hear her saying it, right?

Why? Why did I say that? I wasn't pissed. I thought he had a fine idea. We all know that the kitchen painting will take a while. So, why? He wasn't being mean. He wasn't saying that he was leaving all the painting to me. He wasn't doing a thing but expressing his feelings about the length of time it would take to paint the cabinets.

But, could I hear that through my pathetic little morning? No, of course not. Could I understand that he was doing what most people do by planning his day and weekend on a Friday morning? No, of course not.

What I heard him say was, "I don't want to paint the kitchen. Why did we move in a house with so much work to do? And why must I lose my weekend because you don’t like the color of paint in the kitchen.” Obviously, he didn’t say that. He didn't even come close to saying that. He probably hasn’t even thought that. But, that's what I chose to hear.

So, in one moment, not only did my day worsen, but I was able to worsen Dave’s as well. Jesus, I’m such a bitch.

Only 11 more hours before I hit the prime time of my day.

L.