When did I become an old fogie?

Seriously. I am sitting in a hotel room in the dark, tapping, tapping at my keyboard (thought I was going to say “chamber door,” didn’t you? Just an allusion to Edgar Allan Poe… Thank you, literary friends.). I have been awake long enough to get a shower, hit the lobby for some coffee, and allow my long hair to air dry. The air conditioning is not the strongest and so the once-steamy bathroom is still too warm to convert to an office. So I sit tapping, tapping on my laptop in a wheeled, black leather chair pressed against the slightly ajar bathroom door that allows enough light to hit the keyboard so I can see what I am tapping, tapping (near my chamber door, actually). (Should have spent the extra bucks for a lighted keyboard.)

That is because Diana, my colleague who is sharing this venture into school accreditation, is asleep, and I am awake. Because somewhere in the process of my too-short life, I have become an old fogie.

I actually thought I slept well in this strange room so far from my husband and our miserable memory foam bed that remembers. (Ugh! Long story.) The recent time change for Daylight Savings (or is it the end of Daylight Savings?) certainly contributed, and I applauded myself on managing to go back to sleep for a half hour after awakening at 4.

Then I quietly slipped from bed, made my way to shower (as aforementioned) and did all I could do in the dark without disturbing my sleeping roommate.

Now I am trapped between courtesy and desire to make some noise (and live in the light). In fact, nearly an hour ago, I thought it was the time it is now, which is when Diana’s alarm is to go off. Blasted Daylight Savings throwing off my body clock. I thought I had just moments to wait in the dark and that my early showering efforts would simply make two women getting ready in one bathroom easier. But no, it was only 5:15…

Two minutes ago, Diana’s phone alarm went off. She simply shut it off and resumed sleeping.

I AM GOING CRAZY.

“Early to bed, early to rise makes a man happy, healthy, and wise,” stated the ever-insightful Ben Franklin. But he likely meant EVERYONE should go to bed and get up early. Now those of who follow his advice are deemed “old fogies.”

I am thinking that “early to rise” in this situation is just frustrating—although I am getting another blog post done, tapping, tapping near this chamber door. Happy NaBloPoMo to me!

Enough tapping, tapping. Diana, wake up! It’s 6:22.

Fifteen minutes later:

Diana awakens. Says good morning. Says, “What? Did you get up at 4 a.m. or something?” Says, “I thought so” along with “I heard you but thought getting up then was crazy.”

I am crazy. And an old fogie before my time.

(Quoth the raven, “_evermore.”)