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It's a strange paradox. I despise getting up early. Having to throw myself out of bed after anything less than six hours of sleep is beyond painful. Granted, it would probably be better if I slept at the same time of the day (or night) consisntently, but still. So even on my days off (which are actually my nights off) I have a difficult time getting up. Which is sad, because my favorite part of the day is actually early morning (5ish). It's this time of the day when it's finally cool, quiet, and I feel, I don't know, at peace. I could use a few more of these mornings. Only I'd have to suffer through getting up early first, which I just can't.

I intended to go with my parents to the Phil thing last night. I went to bed around noon, and spent the next two hours waiting to go to sleep. Then I had a brief allergy attack and was reduced to a wheezing pile of mucus for an hour. Finally, I had to take a Benadryl to get my nose to stop running. I actually stopped taking the stuff a shile ago because it just kills my awareness, and anyway Claritin has been working. So, I finally dropped into a drugged stupor right about the time my alarm went off and Mom stuck her head in. Nice, eh? One of the worst drawbacks about summer is that I enjoy it between allergy attacks. Grr... I woke up this morning dissappointed, because I really did want to go. And there's another missed experience to put on the list.

Not sure what I'll do today. I still feel kind of wheezy, so maybe I just stick around here for once. Sneak some laundry in through the kitten line.

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