I've been on a late shift (2-11) since December and will most likely be on it for awhile longer. I've slowly been slipping into a later and later sleep schedule. Last week, I decided I would start running a few mornings a week and get into better shape. I have been getting up at 7:00 every other day or so to get out and beat the heat. I always tell myself I'm going to go home and go back to sleep, but that never works. When I sit and look at myself, I see that I really enjoy having my whole morning. My days feel fuller.
If I think about it long enough, mornings remind me of Dad. He would take me to school some mornings and we'd always stop for breakfast. I'd go to the office with him occasionally on Saturdays and wander the halls of Horner Foods while he worked on price books. Maybe we'd go check a few stores. Early mornings remind me of Disney World and getting to the park at opening. I remember fixing Dad a tall glass of Diet Coke and a cup of coffee while he was in the shower. I remember getting up to the smell of my favorite meal and helping Dad scramble the eggs. I laugh as I write this as I remember his insane energy in the mornings while I would grumble. We called it Narca-wakey; the affliction of being suddenly totally awake. That laughter hitches when I realize those memories are all I have now. I suppose that's all we have anyway. That's how life works.
I get a strange pleasure out of sitting in my house (or on my porch, should the weather not be molten outside) with a cup of coffee and knowing the world is spinning up. It's not hurried yet. It's not stressful yet. The day is new and there are no expectations. By the time I go into the office, I've lived a whole day. Work's just a piece of the larger picture, not the overwhelming task.