Morning Haze

I am not a morning person.  I don't wake up with a smile and hear the happy chirping of the birds outside my window.  Instead, I hit my snooze button at least three times in 10 minute intervals.  I don't spring from the bed, but reluctantly roll off and land with a thud on the floor.  At those times, my brain is not yet fully operational, and I am in an uncoordinated, unthinking zombie state.  I'm lucky if I don't drool as I stumble to the bathroom.

Consequently, I suffer a lot of injuries in the morning, and I tend to make the same mistakes again and again.  Frequently, I run into a bedpost.  I close the drawer on my finger.  I hit the door jamb with my shoulder on the way into the bathroom.

The most common injury I inflict on myself, however, also happens to be the most painful.  On at least four mornings of every week, I will try to close a door before I have moved my foot out of the way.  Because I have small, flat-ish feet, the door does not run into my toes but over them, scraping off my skin like a cheese grate until the door stops against the thicker part of my foot.  The pain is sudden, sharp and -- despite the fact that I do this so often -- surprising.  It always shocks me that my foot would fail to be on the same plan as the rest of my body.

"Foot!"  I yell in my own head, "How can you be so stupid?  You know that Hand was closing the door!"  

"It's your fault!" Foot whines, red and curling from the pain.  "I'm so far away, you need to check with me before closing the door."

"You need to pay more attention!" I spit back.  "The rest of the body was able to get out of the way.  You do this all the time."

And I stand there, annoyed and angry at my own appendage.