Preface: I realize that nothing I'm about to complain about is as terrible as having to get up out of bed to tend a baby. I am grateful for that.
4:45am: my genitourinary system decides to process the glass of milk I had at 10pm. My body software is out of date and is still on pre-industrial era scheduling. It thinks I would naturally get up before dawn to thresh the wheat or milk the cows or something.
5:00am: three Cental Standard Time tweets DING on my phone. Apparently Twitter changed it's site and erased my do-not-disturb setting. I think it was a sinister ploy to make me visit their new site.
5:05am: the cat walks on me to go outside. She knew I was up. I have to be nice to her and let her out because a) she has no indoor litter box any more and b) the new dog Gerald tries to eat her.
5:20am: I realize I'm not wearing my retainer (already!) and I have no clue (!) where it could be. This anxiety pretty much sealed my wakeful fate for the morning.
5:30am: the genitourinary and endocrine systems connive together to tell my brain that I am now truly awake so the allergy sequence may begin. Roll tape!-- itchy watery eyes, sneezing and general head misery are in full moldy autumn bloom.
When this kind of thing happens to me, I'm pretty sure it's God waking me up. He's telling me to have what the western Christian world calls a "quiet time" (although that term is such a turn off I'd rather call it morning-Gospel-meditation or something. ) But look what a stubborn donkey I am, I'm blogging instead.
I did pray. But my head was still on the pillow and I'm pretty sure he deducts points for that because I think many would agree that you can only really pay attention to the Holy Spirit when you're not a blink away from REM or thinking about unloading the dishwasher.
(And those super-early-tweets? Those were about God, so I'm gonna count those as 'Word, too.)
Next Saturday, God's probably gonna shift into higher gear. Grumble...
