Sleeping too much to be a good wife.

“Prepare yourself. Take 15 minutes to rest so you’ll be refreshed when your husband arrives. Touch up your makeup, put a ribbon in your hair; you must always be looking your best. Pride is a clean, proper and tidy appearance.” – Rules for a 1955 housewife.

Let’s just say it’s a good thing I am not a 1950’s housewife. Being a feminist and single at 23 is probably two strong contenders to why I wouldn’t quite fit in. But to be honest, one of things I would struggle with the most is having enough time to be ‘proper and tidy’ in my daily routine.
I’m not a morning person at all.  No even remotely. I am almost as bad as they come, I have been guilty for getting guys to stay over in my bed so that I will have someone to wake me up in the morning. I will sleep through to midday without a blink of an eye and the only way you will ever see me before 10am out in public is because I have been forcibly removed from my bed either by my mother or my need to make my course attendance requirements.

17619179_10202846888811128_1117375153_n                                  (My bed; the culprit for my horrible morning habits.)

This is the way I have always existed. I don’t know a life when getting up in the morning isn’t a struggle for me. As a baby, I loved to sleep. Once, I slept for 16 hours straight as an infant that is an impressive feat in itself for that age. I was so hungry that I was shaking, yet I would not wake up despite it. My mother, for fear I might have become a ticking time bomb (or simply might just dehydrate) had to wake me up. It didn’t stop there, a lot of childhood photos I have are of me sleeping; whether it be in my bed or face first in a bowl of spaghetti (my parents never let me hear the end of that one).

sleeping                                          (Little Alannah snapped while sleeping.)

In college, I was bad in the weekends and my mother would take joy in opening my curtains at 11am so the sun would stream straight in onto my face and I would recoil like a vampire. Yet, I did not have my mother to wake me when I left home for university. Instead, she was replaced with six alarms to wake me up to go to classes. When I had important tests, I had friends call me to check that I was conscious. You see I have a habit of turning my alarms off as I slept. I sabotaged my own studies while dreaming, transferring my nightmares of being late to class literally into my reality.

Now you see why getting ready is a problem for me. I struggle to be conscious, let alone be awake in the mornings. In fact, thinking back to my morning, even today, I can barely remember what I did to get myself up, dressed and out the door this morning. My life begins at 10am when I have my first coffee and my perky course friends are asking me if I slept at all last night because I look so tired. For which the answer is yes, the answer to if I sleep is always yes and that’s the problem.


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