stupid hardwiring

Last night my cousin from out-of-town was DJing, so I packed up my best gay male friend and made a night of it. I forgot how fun it is to go out at 11pm and dance until your face hits the pillow at 4am.

I also forgot how decidedly not fun it is when (like me) you must have been that person in prehistoric times who held the responsibility of stoking the fire first thing in the morning. I'm hardwired to wake up like clockwork every morning at 6am--and I never learned how to fall back asleep. It doesn't matter what time I've gone to bed, it doesn't matter if I'm sick, and it certainly doesn't matter what I've had to drink. Now, I'm not much of a sleeper, but I do like to get my five or six hours a night. I can manage on four. I learned what it was like to live on less when I dated a 10-years-younger-rock-climber-who-loved-to-party a couple of years back. Fun, but miserable, all at once.

When my body bounded out of bed this morning after two oh-so-restful hours of sleep, my brain cursed it in every language it's ever heard. Because my body's conditioned to run most mornings, especially weekend mornings, by 6:30 I was all suited up and on the road, brain still cursing.

Post-run, I remembered that I had agreed to go out snowshoeing and snowmobiling with friends north of the city. Brain stopped cursing body and began to curse brain for making said plans.

I quickly ingested anything I could with caffeine, sugar and potassium. Gatorade. Candy. Coffee (ick, I never drink it). Bananas. Then I was kind of awake but I just wanted to hurl.

I had visions of being a mafia hit, as my feet in snowshoes felt as heavy as concrete blocks. And I think I actually fell asleep on the back of a snowmobile for more than a few minutes, which was probably pretty unsafe. No enjoyment was to be had, but I did manage to function on a minimal level. I think I even pretended to have some sort of fun, although I may be a teensy bit optimistic in writing that.

I just got home. 6am is already looming. Dread.