When I sleep in too late my dad comes in my room (occasionally stomping) and opens the blinds and my window.

I haven’t quite figured out the logic to this method. Maybe the fresh air and light are supposed to wake me up? Maybe I’m supposed to be ashamed that other people could look in and see me still sleeping?

Whatever the logic, he hasn’t yet figured out that it doesn’t work…I sleep right through it.

I can sleep through a LOT of things.

I can sleep through my sister kicking me. I can sleep through sleep-walkers and sleep-talkers. I can sleep through marching band music (another short-lived method of my dad’s), alarms, the radio, threats of calling my friends to tell them I’m still in bed, and once…the smoke alarm.

I’ll be honest with you; I sleep in pretty much every morning now. The only obligations I have are at night — excluding Sundays and Thursdays. And on those days it IS possible for me to wake up…but only because I know I have to. If it’s not necessary, I rarely get up before…9:45. I’m not really proud of this, it’s just a fact.

I’m a night person. I think more at night, I enjoy the night more. But I’ve found in the past that I DO like the morning. In fact, there was a time, when I was a freshman, that I would get up at 5:30 so I could get all my school done before lunch. …and I enjoyed that.

It’s not even that I don’t wake up quickly — I do. It’s just that when I wake up — especially to an alarm — and I know I don’t have to get up, every cell in my body screams that I will die if I get out of bed. You think I’m exaggerating? NO. I literally feel as if I’m on my deathbed, and that if I get up, my very heart will rupture.

It’s depressing, though, waking up late. The day already seems over, productivity feel impossible.

SO. This next week, I’m going to try to get up…well, if not early, then not LATE. Before 8:30, shall we say?

I’ll let you know what happens.