Tags: i'm not a morning person


dear scott: please stop bringing people over in the morning

it's just after 8:30. pm. i haven't been awake long, but already i want to call it a night and go to bed.

so you know how most of the rest of the world wakes up during daylight hours, goes about its functions, and so on? we don't do that. we seem to sleep as soon as it gets light, and wake up when it gets dark. i'm fucking sick of it because whenever people want to come over, it's when we're either asleep, or just about to wake up. this means that whatever horrifying conditions we, or our things, were left in before we slept, are going to stay that way when we wake.

today, this meant the hall was full of boxes (as always) and chunks of leaves and little gritty specks of dirt and mud that i didn't get last night. also the living room was overloaded in work-related bins and more boxes/shipping containers and various papers. it looked like the shipping department of a small factory had taken a shit in that room, and smeared it along the hall and out to the back door. to make matters worse, scott knocked an old unopened can of ginger ale on the floor in the bedroom, and it ended up exploding and spraying everything in a twenty foot radius. it actually hit parts of his office, across the hall. we spent a good half hour cleaning up soda streaks on the walls, trim, gunsafe, floor, computer chairs, etc. the floor was left with a horrible "coated" feeling after i tried to clean it because i was using a dirty mop cover that hadn't been laundered yet. so i get to do it again!

but i digress. the reason i'm bitching is because he brought a new acquaintance over... and it's not that i'm desperately trying to make people believe i keep a perfect house or anything... it's just that i don't want to inflict the disarray on them. but this concept is nowhere near as mortifying as what actually happened tonight.

so it's dark out, probably 6:00 or 6:30ish, when i begin to wake up to the sounds of a strange voice bouncing off the walls of the office. "who the fuck is that?", i ask myself. i remembered scott saying that another modular synthesizer enthusiast/maker was going to drop by sometime this week... i then remembered that it was going to be a guy named kevin, alias "flight"; scott had described him as a year or so younger and about seven feet tall. he'd met him at the meet in renton a while ago. kevin was coming by to learn about photometal panels and some other manufacturing-related stuff. i then remembered the horrid condition of the mucky floor in the hall and the living room and began to feel instant japanese-level shame; surely kevin had observed the state of affairs and concluded that i must be some sort of inept shit-oaf content to live in her own filth.

i gave up on saving the impression of the house and started to look for a brush and some jeans so i could at least emerge from my foul cocoon looking like a semi-intelligent, civilized person. fuck, i left my brush in the other room. doublefuck, all my jeans are in the wash and/or still in boxes in the crawlspace. goddamnit, now i have to dig out a dirty pair of PJ bottoms from the hamper, but at least i'll be covered up. i tried to flatten my wild hair down with my hands and an awkward wooden comb. my hair always gets totally fucked up when i sleep, often rising four inches upwards and outwards, and i end up looking like i've just pissed into an electrical socket. good god, between the grey PJs and the electrocution hair, the face full of morning grease, and the now swelling/red allergy eyes, i looked like an escaped feral mental patient. how could it get worse?

easy, my bowels began to temblor.

great, fantastic. clench that bothered sphincter, soldier! you're holding back what could be a gallon of pure loathing and now you don't have a choice. so i have to somehow escape the bedroom and make it to the bathroom without turtleheading or otherwise spattering my pants or the floor with a dense shit-patina.

i manage to do so, and take my seat at the throne. i had to keep the tap on the whole time to mask the blood-curdling cacophony of my anglo-saxon bowel opera and allergy attack. thank hell the bathroom's window was already open. i remained for what must have been a good fifteen or twenty minutes, alternating between sneezing, coughing, defecating. as of right now, i'm still sneezing and blowing my nose, actually.

so when my bloated husk was done emptying itself of various vile humors, i went back to the bedroom and just sat here, in front of my computer, waiting for it all to be over. i'd resigned myself to having to make a second impression as the first was obviously long gone. it's not as if i'd hoped to have kevin believe i've evolved beyond the need of a bathroom. rather, it's that i would have preferred if the first bodily sounds he'd heard of me were vocal rather than a noxious mix of nasal and rectal. oh well.

so you see, this is why i prefer it if we simply just not have others over in the morning.