That’s me: The Sleep Monster.
If there’s one thing my friends are sure about me, it’s that I am the crankiest, grouchiest, and meanest Ebenezer Scrooge of sleep when I wake up. “Bah mornings” is more like it. (That and I make really bad puns.)
When I’m forced to wake up, I unleash hell through sleep talk (i.e. I’ve said “Five more minutes, Ma…” ten times in a row one morning), a Sadako-like temper (I literally just stare at people through my messy hair), and a lot of stomping. I won’t talk to anyone because I really shouldn’t — at my state. So I normally just run to the bathroom to take a bath so I won’t hurt anyone.
One time, at a trip, I woke up to a sight of people pushing someone to be brave enough to wake me up.
It’s not always like that, though. There are some mornings that I wake up on my own or where I wake up to something beautiful: like my dad blasting the Phantom of the Opera overture or someone telling me that I got a lead part at a play.
I’m not a morning person. And I don’t think I will be. Ever.
But other times, I think I’m a pretty decent kid.