I am not a morning person

I believe it was the great philosopher Garfield who said, “I’m not a morning person.” I couldn’t agree more.

My hatred of the hours before noon were evident early this week, and serve as the impetus of this diatribe.

I had worked a late shift Monday and turned around to get up early on Tuesday. Getting up early is never an easy task for me, and like so many others I know, I’m not fully operational until I have my first cup of coffee.

So, as I stumbled into the office Tuesday morning a co-worker handed me a birthday card, but never told me whom it was for. In my sleep-addled state, I looked for the first name at the top — assuming it would say the birthday boy or girls name.

“Happy Birthday Nate,” it said.

So I signed, “Happy Birthday Nate.”

I had not yet had a cup of coffee, I had e-mails piling up in my inbox and other important matters to attend to — so I forgot about the card.

At lunchtime, a co-worker (let’s say her name rhymes with Yolanda Timmons) said, “hey, they’re having chicken for Mitch’s birthday.”

Cool, I replied.

Until my brain comprehended what she said. Mitch’s birthday. The wheels started turning. Nate’s birthday is in April, it’s a few weeks after mine. I knew this. Why did I sign the card to Nate, I thought to myself.

I spun around in my chair and yelled, “where’s that card?”

Said co-worker was baffled by my concern, until I explained my snafu. She thought it was funny and proceeded to nearly fall over due to her chuckling.

“It’s gone,” she said. “He probably opened it already.”

Had it been for anyone else, I probably would have let it go and laugh about it. But this was my publisher, my boss of bosses. I didn’t want to look like a fool, well more of a fool than I normally do.

So I dashed across the office to the business side, spied the card on another worker’s desk and pounced.

Thankfully, Nate looks a lot like Mitch in my chicken scratch, so all it took was an added line and a few squiggles and I was done.

Crisis adverted. In fact, he won’t know until he reads this. He wouldn’t even know at all if I didn’t write this, but it’s 11:30, I’m all hopped up on java, and the co-worker thinks this is hilarious and people would laugh at me. It wouldn’t be the first time people laughed at me.

My roommates in college knew I was not a morning person. My friend Mark, whom I lived with for three years, discovered this the hard way.

One morning, around 5 a.m., he woke me accidently. I, still asleep, started to “sleep scream” about demons and started to come toward him like I was about to choke him.

He thought it was funny the first time — until I did it again, and again, and once again. The third time, our neighbors in the hallway poked their heads out in time to see me, eyes closed, strangling Mark in the hallway.

“It’s OK,” he said. “He’s sleeping.”

I promptly dropped my hands, turned around and went back to bed. I didn’t believe him until he finally videotaped it one night.

All he had to do was turn the knob on the door and I was off, muttering about being woken up, even though I was still asleep, and how much I hated mornings. Luckily, I broke out of the choking people in my sleep habit, but I’m still not a morning person.

Now, excuse me, I need another pot of coffee.