Morningpeople. Are. Sadists.

Lest you argue, remember that I am apt to throw 12-pound cats and other inanimate objects when an attempt is made to interrupt my vivid dream-life. At three o'clock in the morning I am running on a seemingly unending supply of insomniatic energy. One would think that sleep, sometimes called rejuvenating, would only add to that energy……
Alas, I drag myself out of bed at the fifth pealing of the sleep timer and barely make it close-enough-to-be-on-time to my 9:00 am class. Maybe I am a human solar battery—I charge throughout the day and by nighttime I finally have enough energy to function. That would also explain why I feel more recharged after an afternoon nap with the window open (if my roommate would ever break off her love affair with the pallid fluorescent light and let me open the blinds) than after sleeping eight hours in the dark. (Note to Robin McKinley, you are not the only person who ever had this idea, but I really did enjoy Sunshine.) Like Ellen, my hairdresser/neighbor/evil-cat donor, said, it does not matter how much sleep we get, our functionality only depends on when we wake up.
However, as Ellen also said the last time we were deciding against bangs, the world is ruled by the Morningpeople; it's the worm thing, I guess. My boss is a prime example of the unrighteous dominion given to Morningpeople: last week I stumbled through the dark, snow swirling around me, into a windowless conference room for a quarterly staff meeting that began at seven o'clock in the morning. Did I understand anything that was going on? No. Did the boss look impossibly chipper? Of course. How sure am I that she is a Morningperson? I would deny it if my head or my paycheck were on the chopping block, but not otherwise.