You don’t have to the mayor of Success-town to be a functional human being, but you need to be super-human to be the leader of the great city-state of Crushing Life-ville. And how does every super human’s day start? According to Business Insider, Forbes and GillBates_Mikrosoft on Reddit: with your morning routine.
Just look at what these motherf*ckers do before you even wake up. For shame.
So it got me thinking, what are ER’s writers doing that will make them the most successful bloggers on the internet? Are they practicing mindfulness? Are they eating a kid tested mother approved breakfast? And most importantly, are they putting in work at the gym, brah? Do they even lift?
(Prepare to be disappointed)
Morning. The cruel, beautiful, BDSM mistress of my dreams and nightmares. I wake up about two hours before my alarm goes off, feeling the competing emotions of joy that I get to feel being in bed and grumpiness that this is probably the 4th or 5th time my REM cycle got shattered. I avoid getting up to pee if possible, as that will make me more awake. The best part of waking up is hazy delirium where you can enjoy a slug-like mental state and playing dead under the pile of blankets that only care about being heavy because that’s their job.
The third time alarm goes off I swat at my phone until I grab it to set for 10 minutes later. I keep the phone near me and spend 9 minutes thinking about how I’ll hate when the alarm goes off before shutting it off and enthusiastically jumping out of bed and doing both morning pushups. I take my morning Adderall and other meds plus a vitamin for health, check Facebook and Twitter while brushing my teeth, and pick out a suit. I find it best to center myself while getting dressed. I do this by muttering song lyrics and both sides of imaginary debates I wish I’d had with my 8th grade math teacher. After checking my microwave for new surveillance devices which may have appeared overnight, I stuff a loaf of bread and jar of peanut butter into my backpack, get my final arguments in before opening the door so my neighbors don’t think I’m peculiar, and prepare to turn BBC all the fuck up.
But first, a Zack Morris timeout.
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So obviously I have two morning routines, a productive one and a hungover one. And yes, let’s all pretend I do the productive one more.
NOT Hungover: 5:35am wake up followed by a run or a spin class, because I am equal parts sporty and white girl. Then return to my kitchen for a large cup of coffee (or two) and a dance party (I’m serious). Food, shower, dress myself- usual morning things- and then I’m out the door and off to work probably only 20 minutes later than I should be (I can’t help it I am a notoriously late person).
Hungover: 6:30am alarm followed by at least an hour of snoozing and lots of groaning. I may even get out of bed but then actually get back in bed after deciding I’m too weak and need to lay down for another few minutes. This is also usually accompanied by lots of Snapchat and Instragram scrolling, even though no one has posted anything new since I went to bed. Once I summon the strength to leave my cocoon, usually only when I decide I’m already late for work, I walk to the coffee maker with my eyes likely still closed (coffee is life). I definitely don’t shower, its a pony tail kind of day, and I’m wearing a dress because then you don’t have to worry about matching two pieces of clothing together (the struggle is real). Since I’m already late to work, I stop for more coffee on the way, and probably also a bagel.
The morning is a very special time. It’s a time when your brain is fresh, and the world hasn’t had the chance to beat you down to the point where the only thing that will help is the sweet release of
death sleep. I take my mornings very seriously, and have a strict routine that involves everything from getting dressed to brushing my teeth. Many people take these things for granted. Not this guy. My alarm goes off at 6 and by 6:09(nice) I’m usually out of bed and in my robe. Robe life is the only way to go in the morning. It’s like being wrapped in a giant towel, and who wouldn’t love that? Josef Stalin wouldn’t, that’s who. After enrobing myself, I get 20 minutes of meditation in. I like to meditate, it keeps me level headed throughout the day and keeps me from losing my cool. After meditating I take a shower. Love showers. I stand in the shower anywhere from 10-20 minutes and think of jokes to write. This is prime joke writing time. After drying off I’ll usually make a smoothie or some eggs or some shit that makes me feel like I’m not an embarrassment to humanity, and I’ll take time to write down anything that came about in the shower. Sometimes I’ll write some blogs for this very site. It all depends on the day. Next comes clothes and teeth brushing. I’ll skim here since that’s all pretty standard stuff. Finally, I pack my bag and brace myself for the worst public transportation in the country, the MBTA. By this point the meditation has worn off and I’m ready to snap. Happy Monday!
My morning routine is all about one thing; how long can I procrastinate my inevitable acceptance of another day spent in the cesspool of mediocrity and misery that I’ve come to call a job. I usually set my alarm for an hour before I have to actually be there so I can snooze for 30 min and fool myself into thinking I got a full night’s sleep. Then I take what I’d like to call a shower, though some might refer to it as more of a spritz. After that I’ve got about 2-3 minutes to throw on work attire which thank God is just a polo and golf slacks. Once I’m “clean” and out the door it’s a 6-mile commute where I provide all my fellow motorists with an early morning dose of aggressive driving so they know to get the hell out of my way and not make me 15 minutes late to work instead of my usual 10.
It all starts the night before. I recap the day prior, set my alarm for 6 AM, layout my gym clothes and plan my day ahead as I fall to sleep.
Then my alarm rings. If I don’t snooze it 6 times I shut it off in general. My fiancée typically shakes me awake as she is heading out the door as she asks me to do something/reminds me about something I need to do tonight but will inevitably forget about. I’ll scramble spastically around my apartment trying to figure out if I have an early morning meeting I am going to be late for and weigh the consequences of skipping it. After a shower where I let water run over me as I fall back asleep, I am sprinting (read: meandering) out of the door. As much as I wanted to brown bag lunch, the turkey gathers mold in the fridge and I contemplate coffee options: Starbucks, artisanal free-range hipster cafe or food truck. Starbucks it is. I show up at work incredibly late, tired and probably pissed off at someone encountered during my commute. And I wonder why this blog isn’t successful …