Wake Up Calls Aren't What They Used To Be

So my effort to better myself has been going fairly well. At least in the physical sense. Getting up at 5AM to workout is not nearly as painful as it once was, but I have noticed that the weekends throw me off quite a bit.

I end up pressing the snooze at 6:30AM (a later indulgance than the usual rooster-braying 5AM weekday hour), and if that happens I end up sleeping in until 10AM, which annoys me to no end. Fallacy of being a morning person - the hours between 8-10AM on a weekday are invaluable. They can be used for doing any sorts of nasty chores or working out or things that just need to be gotten out of the way before the fun begins. If you sleep through it? It's... a pain.

Of course when THAT happens, it becomes a bit of a chore to get up at 5AM. My weekend habit of pressing the snooze and crawling back into bed manifests itself and I'm up at 7AM, stumbling into the shower, and scurrying out the door - neglecting not only my morning workout, but my dog's morning walk (though the poor dear DOES get let out to go pee eventually), hungry and grumpy on top of all that, because I've also managed to upset my evening. Mostly because now that a work out was not taken care of in the morning, it will have to happen in the evening, and that's completely distasteful when there are twenty other things I'd rather be doing.

Apparently, my puppy agrees that becoming too friendly with the snooze is a bad habit, because this morning she decided to leave right under my alarm clark a present of the dark and stinky kind. One I did not discover until I was stumbling around the bed barefoot, ready to shut off the buzzing, and found my feet sinking into something soft, squishy and wet.

Immediately, I knew what it was, and my glare jerked toward my dog. Thalia, nose poked out from beneath her very own sleeping bag, seemed unrepentant.

Her large ears quirked, her muzzle quivered, and then her chin came down again.

Feeling highly undignified, I hobbled as best I could to clean myself up, and then returned to my room to assess the damage.

Again, my little chihuahua, not more than 7 and a half pounds (and she is on the fat side), merely stared at me from her place on my bed, as if daring me to comment on her little surprise for me.

I glowered. I simpered. I knelt down on the floor and scrubbed her mess out of the carpet, and in my head I thought what a fool I could be for a little animal who I love so dearly.

Actions are not without consequences - this is not the best habit of hers, and tonight will be spent in her crate, so as to avoid another... surprise, but I have to admit - the puppy gave me an entirely new menace this morning that swept the sleep from my eyes.

I'd rather she not make it a habit though. This by far has been the grossest thing that has happened to me, since the morning my old cat Cleo put a dead mouse in my bed and I slept on it all night.

... and I just revisited that moment.

I think I'll need about three more showers today.