Man, 6:30am.

The use of italics in this post are dedicated to my baby sister, Sarah, because you can never have enough dramatic effect...

We arrived at Niagara-on-the-Lake last Thursday evening, and were in a rush to make ourselves pretty, scarf down some food, and get on over to the Shaw Festival to see their production of "Sweet Charity".

I absofreakinlutely LOVED this show. ADORED this show! What a fantastic performance!

Shirley MacClaine is charming in the film, but the film itself misses something altogether vital and personally comical.   There is something about the stage version of this show that feels very relatable. If you ever have a chance to see this show onstage, you shouldn't miss it.

We got back to the hotel, opened a bottle of Prosecco, gorged ourselves on chocolate (well, I did, anyway), and we watched Jon Stewart's final appearance on The Daily Show. In snowy Canadian analog. Didn't matter, it was a beautiful show. I teared up any number of times, only to dissolve into laughter.

Okay, so that was a week ago. Let's move on to the next morning.

I had some wild hare up my arse, late Thursday night, that I would get up at 6am Friday mornning, and swim laps.  Let's assess the ridiculousness of this idea:

1. I am not, have not ever been, probably will not ever be, a morning person.  A 9:30 am dance class requires that my brainpump be primed and well-lubricated with at least 12 ounces of dark roast coffee.

2. It was after 1am when we went to bed.

3. I took a Benadryl (aka, a sleeping pill) before turning out the lights, because Sneezeweed seems to be the Official Flower of the Midwest and Canada.

Boy did I sleep. Then, somewhere around 6:30, my bleary, sleep-crusted eyes dragged themselves open and my brain began a conversation with itself.  I should mention that I commonly have a variety of voices in my head:  Old Italian Lady (she surfaces when something sparkly, awful, and ridiculous presents itself for purchase.   She is very hard to shut up when that happens).   Then there is the Know-It-All, a sort of combination between Hermione Granger and Brainy Smurf.  Know-It-All is very fond of telling me "I told you so".

Then, there is Sabotage.

Sabotage is a loveable slacker, full of really great, bad ideas.   Hey, let's sleep in!   Hey, let's buy that ice cream!   Hey, let's give that elderly woman who speaks no English a lift down the hill to her grandson's busstop (20 minutes and three subdivisions later, we wound up at the bus stop at the bottom of the hill).

So where was I?   Ah, yes.  6:30am, Friday morning.   Know-it-All and Sabotage started a very lively and noisy dialogue...

Sabotage:  What time is it?

Know-it-All (aka KAL):  6:24.  Rise and shine!

Sabotage:   F*********ck I don't want to get up.

KAL:   If you don't get up now, you won't get to swim today. You wanted to swim today.

Sabotage:   I want to sleep some more. Just another few minutes or until I wake up. Whichever comes first.

KAL:  You can sleep in the car.

Sabotage:  zzzzzzzzzzzzzz


Sabotage:  Lalala, can't hear you.

KAL:  If you don't get up right now we are going to listen to Taylor Swift.

Sabotage:  It's too early for Taylor.


Sabotage:  F*ck you brain, I'm up. STOP SINGING.

So I hauled my carcass out of bed, dressed, and went to the pool. Salt water! Yes!!!  I was so tired, I thought it would be a miracle to hit the 20 mark, but I did 75.  Feeling pretty awesome after.

When I got back from the pool, JC woke up.   We packed up, had food, coffee, and an impromptu stop at the Danier Outlet (Blush leather jacket, f*ck yeah!!!!!) and then went on with our journey.

So the moral of the story is... sometimes you just have to tell yourself "I told you so", haul your carcass out of bed, and just. do. it.   Even when all you ever want to do is burrow under the covers for another half hour.

(Sabotage made me buy that jacket.)


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