The Fog

I had to work at six a.m. this morning, which makes me want to cry even though it's over and done with. The thing that bothered me the most was missing out on The Snooze. I am an expert snoozer and I snooze my alarm no less than eight times each morning. Don't worry, The Husband finds it infuriating charming.

But, on the rare occasion that I have to wake up at four in the stinkin' morning, I fear oversleeping so much that I jump out of bed, disoriented but awake. And even though I don't mind bothering The Husband with my snooze-fest each morning at a normal time, there's something about four in the morning that makes the repeated snoozing seem almost... I don't know... cruel?

Snoozing is a vicious cycle. I usually wake up fairly well to my alarm, but just sleepy enough to give in to the "ten more minutes." Except, then the alarm sounds for a second time, and now I feel almost painfully tired and am forced to snooze again. This continues until I have ten minutes to get ready for work and rush out the door.

I should really let me boss read this so he'd finally understand why I'm late Every. Single. Day.

Not really, but... close.

So, there I was. At work. At six in the morning. Desperately sucking down a Grande Skinny Caramel Latte from Starbucks and Thank God for the Starbucks inside our hotel.

It was a beautiful morning, both inside and out. Most people seemed to sleep in late, which left us blessedly free to get other important things done (like gossip) and outside the morning was looking crisp and clear.

Then the random fog rolled in. At nine a.m. It seemed to completely strangle embrace Anaheim. This is odd for us. Normally, we wake up to fog and it burns off late in the morning. It didn't stick around for long, but seemed to hover just at the edges all day.

This is probably what affected our guests. Because, along with the fog, in came The Crazies. Those guests you can't help but stare at and wonder if this is the first time they've ever stepped foot outside their front door because surely they would've learned how to communicate with people if they'd done so before.

By the way? This post has no meaning whatsoever. Just thought I should clear that up.

Finally, I was on my way home. The sun was making it's descent behind the huge, thick wall of marine layer, which sometimes becomes so huge and dark and ominous that it looks like it's taking over the city. I inevitably start thinking of this really awful movie that The Husband had flipped on one night, aptly titled The Fog.

It was about (wait for it) fog. And how the fog was trying to kill everyone. Or there were ghosts living in the fog trying to kill everybody? Whatever. The Fog was awful.

But, even though I remember it's awfulness, I also remember that it scared me just a little bit.

Because I am a scairdy cat. And this morning? I hated walking out to my car alone. At five-thirty in the morning. In the dark. And cold.

I am also terrified of bugs and scared of earthquakes. Tonight we had an earthquake (albeit a small one) and then a bug fell down The Husband's shirt sleeve as he was trying to save me from it and remove it from the ceiling above our bed.

The end.