I woke up this morning feeling surprisingly rested, considering that the guy next door had woken me up at 3am with his latest house guest.
I lay there, pleasantly drowsy, allowing the morning sunshine to filter in and gently bring me to a state of full consciousness. Then I just continued to lie there, enjoying the blissful novelty of waking before the alarm had gone off and not feeling a sense of dread about it happening. I had no idea what time it could be. Usually, I try to avoid reaching out for my phone and looking at the time, because there’s something weird going on there – every time I’ve done that, I’ve discovered that it’s exactly one minute before the alarm’s set to go off, and that just spoils my last minute for me.
I don’t dread going to work in the mornings: I’ve just always hated getting out of bed. As long as I don’t look at the time, I can believe I have hours left in bed. If I look, it is guaranteed to be 7.44am. But today, I eventually gave in to curiosity and picked up my phone. I flipped it open and looked at the time, proud of myself for being so alert before the alarm even went off. On a Monday, too!
It was 10am.
So that explained it.