How the Olympics are Ruining My Life

I've noticed that I'm not the only person out there looking haggard and worn this week. I've been staying up late, just like everyone else, watching the Olympics.

I don't mean to. Every night I tell myself that I've already read the results, I don't really care about ping pong, and sleep is more important than yelling at yet another judge.

But I keep watching. I keep getting sucked back in. I can understand staying up to watch Michael Phelps win gold, or the drama of teenage girls contorting themselves on a balance beam, or even the bevy of tight muscles so well displayed on divers, beach volleyball players and world class runners.

But last night I stayed up all night watching walking.

Walking!

I stayed up all night watching men swivel their hips around a sidewalk for four hours.

What the heck?

Why are the Olympics so compelling?

I'd like mornings better if they started later.

The world is an entirely different place at 6 in the morning.

I rarely see this hour.

This past weekend, my husband took the kids on an unexpected little road trip to see his mother. Over my three days of alone time I totally messed up my sleep. Without anything or anyone to wake up for I slept until I wasn't tired anymore. Which meant that I slept until almost 3 in the afternoon last Friday. (I must have been really tired!) Which meant that I couldn't fall asleep at all that night. And the damage was done.

But when I felt unexpectedly tired at 9 last night, I followed my husband to bed and hoped that my problem was solved.

But I was wide awake by 1 a.m. and couldn't stand to stay in bed another moment.

I so fervently wish that I could be a morning person. This morning I got to hang out and chat with my husband while he got ready for work. I got to spend some quality time with my son who is sickeningly happy in the morning. He was even dancing! And I got to sip coffee while the men in my life had bacon and eggs. It was nice.

I feel like if I could just wake up at 6 a.m. every morning my life we be so much better. All of my problems would be fixed. I'd be the kind of person who exercises and folds laundry right out of the drier. I'd be the kind of person who saves money and has a hobby. I'd be the kind of person who has a clean house and...does stuff.

My teeth would be white. My hair would blow in a constant wind. And I'd wear...outfits!

I could star in my own pharmaceutical commercial!

But, alas, even typing this entry has taxed me too much. A morning of penance for a long weekend full of sloth could never turn me into what I most certainly am not; a white-teethed, blowing-haired, non-slothed exerciser who folds laundry whilst scrapbooking and balancing my checkbook.

I pretty much am the stereotypical housewife who sits on her butt eating bon bons all day and it is time I embrace it! After I go have a nap.

This morning sun is killing me.