Well, for the last couple of days now I've been having a wee bit of trouble dragging myself out of bed in the mornings. What I had initially speculated to be a 'Monday Morning' syndrome turned out to be more of a, errm... 'Monday-to-Friday Morning' syndrome. For some reason, my body seems to show immense love and commitment to my mattress and utter disregard for my phone's alarm.
It was on one such (not so) early morning when I was rushing to work, simultaneously trying to appease the Traffic Gods and chalking out a back-up plan for the to-do list at work, that my devious, un-repentant sub-concious self came up with the following:
I woke up late
From a slumber deep.
I can fight a mean battle
But I can't fight sleep!
My head was groggy
And my eyes were red.
My soul was willing
But my bum was stuck to the bed.
Eventually, I rose.
Mind triumphed over matter.
I dunked my face into
A bowl of icy cold water.
I reached out, and glugged down
A jar of coffee so strong
That it'd wake up a dead man
And send him skipping along.
And that's how I ended up
On the battlefield,
With my crossbow poised
And unwilling to yield.
I sought out the General
To explain why I was late,
And to make good the lost time
By sealing the enemy's fate.
I proposed I'd do that
By shooting them, two at a time
Thus bringing victory to our side
With the war still in it's prime.
The General stifled a yawn
Paused to adjust his star
And nonchalantly told me
That I'd slept through the war.
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