I woke up this morning to find I’ve overslept. After the initial scramble out of the bed, thudding onto the floor, wrestling out of the tangle of sheets and slipping on cold, morning floor, suddenly everything fell into place. Everything became a single-minded, almost automated attempt to make good time. In the bathroom, out the bathroom; food on the stove, and straight to the breakfast table, off to the sink…

Teeth, brush, brush, brush, spit. A drop of mouthwash. Or two.

Change. Shoes on feet. And suddenly I’m out of the door.

Forty-five minutes. Or was it even less?

I finally realised that things could be so efficient in the morning. That I don’t need to wake up so bloody early to plod along doing useless stuff to make one eyes realise that it’s not supposed to close that long anymore, to coax the body to forget staying horizontal. Or such like.

So, I’m going to try oversleeping again tomorrow.

Of course, the downside is that I can’t bum around drinking my morning coffee and reading the “Irate Readers Letters” section of the paper in the morning. But, I get more sleep, which I value very highly — being the sloth-incarnate that I am, I guess.