I’m 26 years old, and I expected to have full control over my sleeping habits by now.  I don’t.

I was awake at 6:15, at 6:24, and at 7:01.  They didn’t seem like good times to wake up, and leaving the house at 8 wasn’t all that motivational until 7:27, when I finally crawled out of bed.

In a recent email from a friend, she phrased the situation perfectly.  She said she wished that Night Julie would respect Morning Julie.  I wish Night Hannah would work on that, too.  Sometime around 11 p.m., I get this amazing second wind and going to sleep seems like the worst possible choice.  With dishes to be done, clothes to launder and drawers to reorganize, who would go to bed?  Sometimes the second wind just means watching another episode of Glee on DVD, and yet I can’t quite drag myself away.  Then 1 a.m. rolls around, and Morning Hannah doesn’t have a chance.

I’ve totally given up on wearing makeup to work.  Looking good is overrated.  Ignore the fact that this is a picture of a cat and trade the kibbles for cereal, and this is what I’ve become every morning: