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Good Morning!

Last night I was lying in bed reading when I glanced at the clock. "Oh my God, it's 12.30 already. Is that clock right? How did it get that late? Good grief." I finished up my chapter, pushed the dog around until I was in a better position, put on my eye mask, and promptly fell asleep.

Let's call that foreshadowing.

When my alarm went off this morning, sleep didn't want to let go of me. My dreams tangled with the waking world, and my blankets were made of zippers. Zippers sewed together in zigzag fashion, such that pulling the covers off of me was nearly insurmountable. Standing across the room in front of my now silent alarm, I was only slightly less convinced that my bed was full of zippers.

Lacey and I did the normal First Thing Pronto event of emptying our bladders, and then I decided that I really could use another half hour. So I reset my alarm and climbed back into bed.

When my alarm went off again at 7, my blankets were still made of zippers, though my previous experience with the zippers made it easier to get out of bed. Lacey didn't move under the blankets, even though the sound of my alarm is usually enough to make her start running in circles. I attributed this to having pumped her with doggie downers for last night's haircut, the drugs still affecting her.

I rushed through my routine, ran a straight iron through my hair as fast as possible with the misguided notion that it would be faster than wetting and diffusing it to make my curls happy. I couldn't hear any noise from the bedroom, no getting-up noises, no jingling of the collar, no Steve-stretching.

I ran back in and re-woke Steve, who was moving slower than I was. I was pretty annoying to make him get out of bed because we were running late. Up up up, everyone up! And dressed! Whee!

We left a few minutes late, but nothing that I couldn't make up by speeding (which I never, ever do, Mother, only a little and I'm hardly ever caught) a bit more than usual.

We laughed about the bed being full of zippers, and saw two cops at a stoplight. Steve wondered aloud if they were changing shifts, and I started to say that 7.30 was a stupid time for a shift change, when I saw the radio clock.

6.39.

I tapped it with my finger a few times. Is that right? Really? 6.30? It can't be, can it? I grabbed my purse from the back and verified the time with my cell phone. We stared at the clock, dumbfounded.

It explained why we felt like we had been hit with a truck.
It explained Lacey refusing to get out of bed.
It explained all of the zippers.

I guess it hadn't been 12.30 last night after all.