The perfect morning

beyonce-mugI have been one of those insanely sensitive and absurd bleeding heart liberals who can’t get her head wrapped around the election results. (Don’t worry, this isn’t about politics, it’s about how ridiculous I am). The crying, the denial, the crying, the anger, thinking my whole family hates me, the f**king crying. I am about to break up with myself.

Having said that, I had the perfect morning this week. Thursday was our office Thanksgiving. I was cooking one of my favorite recipes from Queen Ina Garten. Her bacon balsamic Brussels sprouts. Although I did all of my prep work Wednesday night, for the sake of food integrity I waited until 6:30 a.m. Thursday to cook. No ma’am, I am NOT serving soggy refrigerated Brussels, even to my co-workers. The Queen would not approve.

So for just the first few hours of Thursday morning, I was that woman who could DO IT ALL. I cooked three and a half pans of only the good Brussels sprouts (get it, Ina fans, GET IT?), I worked out, I walked the dogs, fed them and the cats both (please note I do this every morning, I don’t starve my kids), made and finished my smoothie before I left the house, and managed complete hair, makeup, and outfit to get to work earlier than normal. Please note: if you want me to start working before 9 a.m., you need to let me work at home permanently. Otherwise, I stand by my conviction that my optimal work day would be 11-7.

Most of all, that morning I was in a GOOD MOOD. I did not hate myself.

Here’s the problem with The Perfect Morning. You start getting ideas. It’s kinda like how you go to your first yoga class in months and you almost sign up for an unlimited membership immediately because of how good you feel. When you probably should just try to go once or twice a week for a few weeks before being an idiot. But The Perfect Morning makes you think you should do this more often. Like, you should get up even earlier, workout 10 extra minutes, walk the dogs 10 extra minutes, maybe do a load of laundry or dishes, read the papers and trades BEFORE work, and maybe even get to the office “on time.”

This, much like my mood swings the past 10 days, is ridiculous. My bed is awesome. My dogs are old and sleep even more than me. Dishes and laundry are stupid. I work out more than anyone I know already. And reading the papers and trades, as everyone knows, is what the first 30 minutes and cup of coffee at work are for. Don’t get crazy.

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