I stopped setting an alarm.
I stopped caring
the early bird getting the worm,
how most successful people wake up before 5am,
how I’m told I should try to meditate immediately upon rising,
or the supposed incomparable benefit of getting in a pre-kids awake workout.
I stopped caring about
someone judging me for ‘sleeping in,’
not have a consistent summer routine,
staying in my pajamas all day,
and not attacking each morning with a predetermined plan I had for it.
I stopped caring about that unimportant shiitake so that I could and can care about the real important stuff like
my tiny humans,
and my mental health.
If I’ve got no other choice but to ride out this pandemic plagued summer in the same manner I have since mid-March which is ‘safer at home,’ then I see no need for me to give a damn about what anyone outside of mine thinks.
I could get it together, I guess.
I could pull myself together, earlier,
light a fire under my biscuit,
wake up at an impressive hour,
and try to be more productive in the first few hours of the day,
or I could, very contently, hold steadfast to the notion that
it doesn’t matter what time I wake up, only that I wake up to those that mean absolutely everything to me and spend my days working hard to ensure they know such.