Just five more minutes…

I may come across a bit testy in today’s column and I apologize for that. This day just didn’t start out the way I wanted it to.

I had to get up.

To say I’m not a morning person is a major understatement. For the first 20 minutes of every day, I would rather be dead than awake.

If I didn’t have to pee, I don’t think I could make myself get out of bed before noon ever.

My bladder is the only reason I’m still in school.

I used to think that when I married I wouldn’t have problems getting up in the morning because I would have the woman I love lying beside me.

Yet another misconception I had about marriage.

It turns out, I could wake up every morning to breakfast in bed consisting of doughnuts and Barq’s root beer served to me by videogame convention booth babes and I’d still be cranky.

I’m not really sure where this hatred for the dawn came from.

I think part of my problem is that while I’m still in bed, I can still remember my dreams and there’s nothing in this world that can compare to what I had there.

I take that back. There is one thing that can drag my sorry butt out of bed. A rabbit in drag.

I’ve always thought it was ironic that the only day I can get up in the morning is the one I don’t have to. As further proof that I’m still 6 years old inside, I can wake up at the crack of the first cartoon on Saturday and go all morning no sweat.

Still, the shows aren’t as good as they once were. Half of them are all rendered on a computer and the rest sound like they were written by one.

The new Transformers are the only former morning joy that’s just not as good as it was when I would only order one Happy Meal.

There are, of course, breakfast cereals, but these have totally lost their magic for me ever since they stopped containing toy surprises.

This isn’t to say that I’ve matured to the point where I don’t eat “kids” cereal anymore. That would be silly. I mean there are no toy surprises in cereal at all.

All they have now for kids are word games and mazes on the back. Like that’s going to help them encode secret messages to each other.

And these games just aren’t enough. I know that I can usually get Toucan Sam to the Froot Loop tree by my third or fourth bowl and then I find myself turning to no-man’s land and reading the side panels.

Personally, I don’t want to know what’s in my cereal. For the same reason I don’t want to know where hotdogs come from. It ruins the magic.

Besides, kids don’t need to know how much riboflavin is in their breakfast. I didn’t even know what riboflavin was until I was 16 in my high school health class.

Before I can fill my stomach with sugar, I need to first clear my head of sleep and to do that properly, I need to get naked.

I used to think the shower was something worth getting up for and I must admit the shower is my favorite thing before lunch.

The shower is so great, because you’re in a small, enclosed environment, it’s warm and wet, you’re unburdened by clothing and most external sounds and thoughts are drowned out.

It’s just like I remember the womb.

But in both cases, reality has the tendency to grab you with its rubber-gloved hand and pull you out in the real world.

And sometimes that dastardly real world can get you when you should be safe.

It uses underhanded tactics, like the neighbors flushing or roommates taking all the hot water.

The worse is when the shower curtain rips off in your hand and you’re standing there, with a defeated look on your face knowing, not only are going to have to explain the damage to your roommate or spouse, but you know, today you’re gonna feel a draft.

I wish I knew some secret to make shining for a part of rising.

My only advice is shower quickly and watch Ninja Turtles while you enjoy your Apple-Jack, Golden Graham cocktail. Or just do what I do in the morning and hit the snooze bar until 3 p.m.

Or do what I do all the time. Geek on.