Not drowning but waving

Every morning the radio alarm shouts at me in Polish or Punjabi - I'm too uncultured to know the difference. Every morning I think I'll remember to set the bloody thing to Classic FM or anywhere the DJs aren't angry with me.

It's not that I hate mornings, I love mornings, I just can't wake up in them. I think I drown every night and lie like a wreck stuck in the grey sludge of the ocean floor. And that's where I want to stay, thank you. A worn out vessel with silver fish stretch marks across my broad side. Leave me be to grow barnacles on my bottom. But no, the morning tug boats dredge me up to ferry the grunting teenagers and growling husband to work. Bugger.

I didn't reply to any of my fellow bloggees comments last week. Because, I'm ashamed to admit, I put the edited bit back and not only that, I added more. So I have a 133k m/s to edit down to 100k and I've edited up to 137k. Ha.