Monday, December 05, 2005

It’s a sign

One of the ways that I know that I’m getting old (but not necessarily wiser, I suppose), is that my morning routine is changing. Used to be that on days (weekends) when I’d have a chance to sleep in, I’d just go ahead and do just that. Sleep in. As long as possible. In my much younger days I’d be in bed until way after noon on weekends. Occasionally I’ve been a morning person, but as with most of the rest of our family I’m a night owl. The exception being Lucas who falls asleep promptly at 9:30 p.m. whether he wants to or not.

In college and in my youth I did what most folks do. I was a “sleep camel.” Saving my sleep periods until the weekends when I could make up for all the missed sleep. I know, I know, that’s not good for you. But I did a lot of things that weren’t good me back then, like voting Republican. We all make mistakes when we are young.

But lately I’ve been waging a losing battle with sleep in the mornings on weekends. Specifically, my bladder wakes me up and then once I’m up, I tend not to go back to sleep. I just get up and start doing stuff. Mostly of late I’ve been clanking around downstairs in the hope that I’ll one day finish the stupid wiring and get on with the business of being done.

An aside: I am pleased to report: I’m officially done with the wiring in two of the three areas of the basement. And I have no plans to do the third. Though I may be forced to do that when I rough in the closet down there. Actually, now that I think about it, I’m definitely going to have to re-do stuff in that area, because I’ll be taking out the hung ceiling acoustic tiles so I can attach the closet studs to the upstairs joists. And that horrible fluorescent lighting MUST go. Oh crap, kill me now. I’m never going to be done.

I remember my grandparents complaining about having to get up in the middle of the night to pee. What’s that about? What specifically about getting older makes it so you have to pee in the wee (sadly, pun intended) hours of the morning?

I can just see myself down the road in thirty years: pants pulled all the way up to my sternum, no hair, no teeth, prostate the size of a basketball, sitting in my living room, complaining about the government full time, getting up at dawn to pee and then going for the senior special at Denny’s at 2:30 in the afternoon. And telling the durn neighbors kids to stay off my lawn.

But on the bright side, I’ll probably be done with the remodel by then.

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