At the beginning of the semester, we’ve were
both surprised (and grateful) to each have just the right job fall in
our laps. We couldn’t have asked for a better situation—Andrew
gets to work off-campus doing what he loves, and I get to work
on-campus doing what I love. Since then, every Tuesday and Thursday we
would peel our eyes open at 6am—throw some
clothes on, Andrew would drop me off at my office and he would start the
two-hour trek to his tree-climbing, arborist sort of job. This was
reasonable—though since Daylight savings we are now rising at the ungodly hour of 5am—(it’s
still dark, mind you!) and I now sip on my coffee with bloodshot eyes
as I sort my e-mails. I write all of this because as much as I have
appreciated the thought of early morning—a good start to the day—I
have never been a morning person. There have been times in my life in
which I was required to be one, but not necessarily out of choice. For
the last 6 years I’ve been in the restaurant business, mostly as a
server—requiring late hours and therefore late mornings. It has become my lifestyle habit.
