Michael, my brain mumbled. Michael.
I didn’t reply.
Morning, Michael, my brain said. Time to get up.
I snuggled deeper into bed.
Morning, Michael, time to get up, my brain insisted. Then, mimicking an old “Jetsons” routine, added, “Up, up, up, up, up.”
Really, I muttered. Again? Must we go through this every morning?
By now, the cats were aware that I’d returned to life, and were getting in on the efforts to make me rise and shine.
I sighed. Must I endure this every morning?
By then, my bladder was also suggesting it was time to get up, and my stomach was adding that it was ready to get up and eat, and my brain was whispering, coffee (which it knew would stimulate me into activity), so I complied. As I stumbled down the hall, thinking, every morning comes too early, my mind’s word-association processes kicked in. Memory brought up Sugar Ray singing “Every Morning” from 1998.
Oof. Stay positive, test negative, wear a mask, and get vaccinated.