The Day My Groundhog Died

Waking up this morning felt like climbing out of a deep tunnel. Could hardly open my eyes. I had crazy but realistic dreams. That’s not like me.

I looked over at the clock and that said 5:15 am and got a shock. I never sleep this late. It’s not like me.

I hate running in daylight, so I spring out of bed to beat the inevitable sun.

I look down for the socks and sneakers I usually put in place before bed each night and they weren’t there. I never forget to do that. Not like me

I hurry to the kitchen and there’s no coffee setup, no water bottle in the fridge and my phone and Fitbit aren’t on the counter. That’s not like me. At all.

I’m getting confusingly irritated now and start having thoughts of early dementia onset because I failed to do my carefully planned routine. That’s not like me.

I say screw the coffee, I don’t deserve any for not doing my prep work. I’m all fucked up now. I am cursing, covered with sweat and very upset. Definitely not like me.

I’m rushing out through the garage and thinking it will be daylight in 45 minutes. Running in daylight makes five miles feel like ten.

There’s people walking dogs, cars, trucks, landscapers and my friend Al, who always feels like talking. I am not looking forward to this. That is certainly not like me.

Once my garage door opens I spot the trash I carefully placed next to my courtyard gate five hours earlier.

Then it hit me. I got up at 11:30, found my socks and sneakers, had my coffee, grabbed my Fitbit and my water bottle off the counter and dutifully did my duty. Five hours earlier.

I had come home, showered, had breakfast, meditated, made entries into my gratitude journal and went back to bed.

I slept so soundly I forgot about everything. And…that’s not like me. Thankfully.

Please note: I welcome comments that are offensive, illogical or off-topic from readers in all states of consciousness.

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