“Time to get up!”
Ohgodwhattimeisit? I wonder, cracking one bleary eye to stare at the baleful red glow of my bedside alarm clock. “It’s only ten,” I mumble, annoyed by the holiday weekend wake-up.
“Your room is a mess, and Jeanine’s going to be here Tuesday and I need to get the dogs…” I tune out the litany of transgressions as she starts ticking off all the ways I’m a horrible human being for sleeping past eight on a day off from work.
“A’right,” I mumble after each point, not really caring anymore. Woman, it’s a holiday weekend, and my to-do list is on the whiteboard right next to you. You know I sleep in on the scant few days I have the luxury to do so. Why are you in my room now, disturbing my sleep? And why must you wake me up in such a bitchy manner? Who pissed in your Cornflakes?
“So get up!” and off she goes.
“K…” GodIhateyousometimes. I roll over and punch the pillow, imagining it’s her face.
So much for a relaxing weekend. One of these days, I’m installing a bolt on my bedroom door.