Quiet Mornings and Manic Evenings

I am not a morning person.

I don’t like talking in the morning. That includes, but is not limited to: people talking to me, myself being required to talk to others, music being played, podcasts being played, people having conversations where I can hear them. Sounds, basically. I don’t like sounds.

I want silence in my mornings.

This, as you can imagine in a house of seven people, is not a realistic expectation.

Consequently, I’m a bit on the…how to put it delicately? Grouchy side in the mornings. Especially, and I’m not proud of this, to my dear, dear family.

Oh, I can, and occasionally do, pull myself together in the mornings and become a decent human being. But that usually requires my having woken up for something exciting, or that I am in a situation in the mornings where I have to talk to people and act like a real human rather than a dragon that just crawled out of her cavern because an annoying knight was outside yelling something about “battles” and “taking my head back to his queen on a platter.”

But you get the idea.

I usually become fully awake and pretty cheerful anywhere from 9:00 to 10:45 in the am, depending on the day and how early I woke up.

I go through the rest of my day and eventually come home. We eat dinner, and chores are done. My Youngest Brother is put to bed and my Younger Brother and Younger-er Brother go to bed.

It is now approximately 8:45 in the pm.

All the younger siblings are in bed.

My parents, Older Brother, and I are usually sitting on the couch reading, watching something, talking, or simultaneously doing all three at this time.

This is when my brain goes something like this:

yo face

I become completely and totally manic. More so when I’m really tired, but it happens almost every night.

Someone will crack a lame joke, and I’ll laugh about it for twenty minutes. Then, when I think about the joke, I’ll burst into giggles again. Then I’ll have created an endless loop. Eventually, I don’t even have to think about the joke any more. I’ll just randomly start laughing.

And I start to say extremely intellectual things in an extremely fast voice. Here’s a gem from last night: “Y’know Mom, I’m starting to wonder how many other Knights of the Round Table Guinevere had affairs with. I mean, she fell for both Arthur and Lancelot ’cause they were big, strong, and purty, and all the Knights of the Round Table are big, strong, and purty, so, really, she was probably having an affair with ALL of them, which is even MORE messed up ’cause like everyone in Camelot was related!” Then I started laughing uncontrollably. Keep in mind, this was all said really quickly and nigh on unintelligibly.

My Dad’s theory is I just feel the need to compensate for all the noise I didn’t make in the morning by being manic and loud in the evenings.

My family has learned to just nod along and say, “Yes, dear. Very funny. Ha-ha.”

When it gets to the point where I’m curled up on the couch laughing my head off with barely enough time to breath in between giggling, and I’m blabbering on about the holiness and perfection of gummy bears, I will either take myself to bed, or, more likely, someone will order me to go to my room and sleep it off. It’s almost always the latter rather than the former.

*sigh* I’d say I’m sane, but I can’t, because I pride myself on being truthful.

3 thoughts on “Quiet Mornings and Manic Evenings

    1. Oh my goodness; I don’t think you understand just how happy that comment makes me. You’ve just told me that I’m accomplishing what every writer strives for; thank you! Thank you so, so much!


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