Rush hour

Wow, what a motivated bunch of early morning happybunnies you all are; I’m seriously impressed. Here’s my morning routine:

There’s a noise, intruding into the swirling fevered dreamscape conjured by my overactive brain. What’s the noise, beep beep beep, it’s that bloody alarm clock. I open one sticky eye and reach over to hit the snooze button, bits of the dream fall away, then the warmth of the duvet envelops me again, its Sunday, no need to rush. There is a stench wafting up from the duvet, one of us has farted, or maybe the dog is asleep on the bed, who cares, it’s Sunday, and I drift back to sleep, the dream resumes where it left off; mmm comfortable warm dreamy safety.

Ten minutes later, the noise comes again; at first it’s just part of the dream, but then my fuddled brain registers that it’s a real noise not part of the dream at all. There’s bright daylight outside, SHI-ITE, its Monday and we are late.

Rush rush, no time to shower, hurry hurry, clean my teeth and brush my hair while I’m sat on the loo, go go, let the dog out for a pee while I get dressed, run run, no time for breakfast, faster faster, kettle’s on, quickly quickly, phone, keys, purse, laptop, move it move it, wheelspin out of the drive without spilling any coffee, and I’m on my way.