Not entirely sure how I did that...
I've been staying with Kate, GP, and the Monkeycats since getting home from OVFF, to allow the contractors time to finish replacing all the windows in our house (and thus cause them to put my bed back together, since a blonde which slumbers on the floor is not a blonde which is capable of walking...). Now, they live in Berkeley -- way closer to San Francisco than Concord -- and, more excitingly, the Transbay bus stops a block from their house. I've been taking the Transbay every morning. It gets me to work a full hour earlier, and is genuine hammered awesome from tip to toe.
Last night, before going to bed (obscenely late, and there are reasons for this, and I'll explain them later), I double-checked that my alarm was set for five-thirty. This would give me plenty of time to stagger around like a zombie, dress myself -- in the clothes I had already thoughtfully lain out -- wash up, and do all the rest of those essential 'getting ready inna morning' tricks of the female trade.
Morning arrived. I woke up, groggy, sans alarm. Not unusual; when I'm worked up about something, I often wake up early, and decide whether or not to go back to sleep based on how early. I checked the clock. 4:48. Uh, no. Back to sleep with me!
Wake up again. Still no alarm. Bugger. Well, we're probably closer to time, now: check the clock.
5:41.
Crap.
In the span of four minutes, I somehow managed to bolt out of bed, running on pure 'ahhhhh shit ahhhhhhhh', jam myself into my clothes, grab my coat, yank it on, make it up a rather steep and unfriendly set of stairs, race through the house, grab my purse, backpack, and copy of Lisey's Story, and make it down to the corner, where the bus picked me up at the appointed time, and carried me into the city.
And once I got to work, I even brushed my hair.
Last night, before going to bed (obscenely late, and there are reasons for this, and I'll explain them later), I double-checked that my alarm was set for five-thirty. This would give me plenty of time to stagger around like a zombie, dress myself -- in the clothes I had already thoughtfully lain out -- wash up, and do all the rest of those essential 'getting ready inna morning' tricks of the female trade.
Morning arrived. I woke up, groggy, sans alarm. Not unusual; when I'm worked up about something, I often wake up early, and decide whether or not to go back to sleep based on how early. I checked the clock. 4:48. Uh, no. Back to sleep with me!
Wake up again. Still no alarm. Bugger. Well, we're probably closer to time, now: check the clock.
5:41.
Crap.
In the span of four minutes, I somehow managed to bolt out of bed, running on pure 'ahhhhh shit ahhhhhhhh', jam myself into my clothes, grab my coat, yank it on, make it up a rather steep and unfriendly set of stairs, race through the house, grab my purse, backpack, and copy of Lisey's Story, and make it down to the corner, where the bus picked me up at the appointed time, and carried me into the city.
And once I got to work, I even brushed my hair.