I miss being a morning person. Until turning thirty, I’d bound out of bed singing, “Oh, what a beautiful morning. Oh, what a beautiful day!” It would be animated—arms reaching up and everything. That’s no exaggeration. I’ve done that. When I wasn’t singing, I’d wake up talking. Matt, my boyfriend, used to call me Chatty Cathy. When a crack of light creeped through the curtain, I’d just start: “I like the color purple. Do you like the color purple? What do you want to do today? Did you see…?” I’d open the curtains with a spunk and vivacity only exhibited in musical theater. As I write that down, I realize Matt really should have left me by now. He likes to sleep in and he moans every time actors break into song.
Sadly, I’m not the morning person I used to be, and it’s made me realize that the non-morning people in my life—Matt, my mom, and my best friend since childhood, Julie—must all really love me. They are not naturally morning people. And now, if I […]