How to Get out of Bed in the Morning When You Really Don’t Want To.

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Photo by Kinga Cichewicz on Unsplash

I don’t know about you, but I really hate getting out of bed in the morning.

You know why? Because it feels like this.

Mind: “Is that the sun? Or am I still dreaming?”

Body: “I don’t know. I can’t move. I have no arms or legs.”

Mind: “Not dreaming. Oh wait, I thought we got up. I must have been dreaming it.”

Body: “Have I been drugged? Get the light out of my face.”

Mind: “I hear something. It’s the radio. The cell phone alarm went off a while ago.”

Body: “ Oh shit. I’d better stretch and prepare. The cat should start hitting me in the face anytime now.”

Sometimes this returning from the dead ritual is the result of watching one too many episodes of Vikings or Outlander or whatever I series I’m embroiled in, but for the most part it’s because I just can’t wake up.

My brother-in-law calls it the Regan Sleeping Sickness.

Going to bed at a decent hour and getting that “good” night’s sleep, be it eight, ten or twelve hours, usually doesn’t make a big difference. Once I’m getting those Zzzzzz’s, my brain’s appetite for the unconscious world becomes a bottomless pit.

The more Zzzzzz’s it gets, the more it wants.

My unconscious brain turns into a black hole sucking sleep particles from every part of the universe, and like a black hole nothing can escape once it is inside. This includes my body, even when I open my eyes and there’s light coming through the window. It can take me upwards of 30 minutes to fully transition back to the land of the waking.

This is how I pull myself together: thoughts of cappuccino and my Bialetti Moka Express that awaits me.

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Photo by wu yi on Unsplash

I have carefully blended Pete’s French Roast with just a tad of Dunkin’ Dark. It is perfect and I begin to imagine the smell and taste.

I envision cradling the warm, glazed, mug in my hands; placing it under my nose and inhaling the aroma; allowing the steam to seep into my pores. I can see the foam, stir it, and then lick the spoon.

“Yes, yes, this is all yours,” I tell myself. “All you have to do is get out of bed and walk to the kitchen.”

At this point I am capable of moving my limbs. The mind and body begin to fuse and become one.

Still limp, I sit up on the edge of the bed, reach for my soft, fuzzy, green T.D. Bank socks, my win from the previous year’s Yankee Swap, and stand. I am now fully upright.

By this time, my ear drums are in the process of being pierced by the yowling of two cats who now sound like screeching sopranos in one of of Mozart’s operas.

I grab their bowls, open the cat food, and breakfast is served. Next, I change their water and clean the box. The timing is now right to turn on the burner and start the cappuccino.

I can’t start it too soon. The liquid must be hot, moved off the burner, and allowed to settle for a couple of minutes. The foam must also be hot. I must time it precisely.

Coffee is serious business!

Soon my cappuccino will be a reality.

When you don’t want to move in the morning, envision that cup of coffee or tea or bagel or whatever your early pleasure is. Think of how much you will enjoy it. If it’s early enough, you can perhaps enjoy it in solitude and silence.

Make it a ritual every morning to sit with it, savor it, smell it, and taste it. Quiet the mind. Breathe.

Then you’ll be ready to hit the go button.

Thanks for reading!

Written by

Marilyn is a writer, yogi, and spiritual medium. Her favorite people are animals, especially ones that meow. She loves the ocean and hates one-use plastic.

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