Why Did I Get Up?

This morning was my first official day as a CUTCO sales rep once more. I went to bed last night determined to be up and ready at seven this morning with my phone in hand and my "friend approach" ready, even though the people on my list had probably heard this approach about a zillion times. In anticipation of having to get up, my body actually chose to end my circadian cycle shortly after six and I found myself staring at my phone several times between then and seven waiting for phone time to come up. In the time that it took for my alarm to catch up with my biological clock, I had a chance to worry about things that had been hitherto pushed aside: namely, would anyone want to answer their phone at this hour? We were told to make call between seven fifteen and eight thirty to maximize chances of getting in tough with the average customer, but these weren't "average" people I was calling. These were theatre people who lived on nights and weekends and whose days varied one from another as much as the colors in a bag of skittles. My fear of bothering anyone led me to delay making any calls and, instead of killing time by reviewing numbers or going over my approach...I just stared at the phone some more. Probably not a good idea since, by the time I mustered the courage to call my first customer, I realized that I didn't actually have her phone number. I scanned my list over and over looking for her name and it was nowhere to be found. I couldn't believe it. I refused to believe it. I was so deep in denial that, rather than try to get in touch with her online, I trashed my room, sure that somehow ten numerals with her name beside them would magically appear if I only made a big enough mess...it didn't and I finally had the sense to email her asking for her number...then I waited. Despite my having wasted a good deal of time already, it was still within the recommended call time. I could've just gotten on the phone to see if I could make some other appointments in the meantime. Accept...you know how you get used to always going for the handicapped stall in the public restroom because it just feels right, and even though another stall is shown to be more sanitary, you really don't feel right not using the handicapped stall? Abby was my handicapped stall. So, rather than salvage the time I had with the few contacts I had, I went back and forth between facebook and my emails in hopes that she's one of those people who gets emails on her phone and replies right away. She didn't. I did eventually break down and try to call other people. None of them answered. It was after eight at this point and I had to wonder if these people hadn't answered because I'd called too early or called too late. In any case, by the time I went through my short list, I was out of time and had not even a complete call to show for my troubles.

This is what I got up for this morning. I got up to make phone calls and get in a couple of appointments to make my start. I got up so that I would be farther along this afternoon that I was this morning. I got up because I thought when I began my day that I would be able to make it a good day. My getting up was for naught, it seemed. I sat in my room with my phone in hand, my blue notebook ready, and wondered what I was supposed to do with myself now. I still had an entire day ahead of me and all I wanted to do was go to bed.

This morning was the earliest I've gotten up all summer. I sometimes wake up at odd hours, but this morning I woke up conscious of the time and place and chose to start my day before seven a.m. Granted, "start my day" ended up translating to "brushing my teeth and staring at the phone for a couple of hours", but I got out of bed with the expectation that I was doing so for a reason; the notion that getting up and doing something would work out better for me than rolling over and trying to go back to sleep. I thought wrong. I finally overcome my tendency to be lax and I end up holding a phone to my ear listening to another outgoing message, that CUTCO smile still frozen on my face in hopes that this positoovity kool aid they're selling will actually do me some good. Only a couple of hours into the day, I find myself questioning if getting to this place was really worth getting out of bed for and preferring a nap to the answer. Resigned, I set my alarm for 9:30, crawled back into bed and tried to disregard my disappointment for awhile. When I got up again, rather than hopeful prospects to check, I had my trashy room to deal with and my growling tummy to satisfy. Of course I had other things to do. There are always other things to do. But my day was no longer made of what I would make out of it. It was reduced to a series of obligations and a countdown until I could go back to bed with the hopes that tomorrow would be better.

It's days like this that make it so hard for me not to want that extra fifteen minutes after my alarm goes off. With all the drudgery and disappointment that today tends to bring, I'd much prefer to hide out until tomorrow. What is it that makes most of us get up every morning? Is it anticipation of a particular event, like a dance class, or a necessity to accomplish a task, like making a series of phone calls? Or is it like mine was today: a grudging acceptance that leaving the bed is necessary to survival? I wish it were more. I hope for a time that what I look forward to is today.