They say, "You are only as old as you feel."

If this is true, please congratulate me on reaching the ripe age of 1,087.

Aging sucks.

I present to you The Indignity of Waking.

[5:30 AM]

The day begins the same as every other day.

A piercing scream breaks the silence of the darkened room. The scream is followed by a muffled grunt and an exasperated exhale.

Thus begins another morning of trying to get out of bed and put socks on.

My wife, bless her heart, has already exited the room because she knows that, invariably, these morning grunts and groans and huffs and puffs will most likely be followed by the cacaphony of sounds of my body expelling the evening's collection of gases. My dog, sadly, seems either immune to these noises and scents or is just somehow too lazy to attempt an escape, so he just lays there atop the covers and takes it like a furry little man.

I manage to prop myself up in the darkness and sit myself at the edge of the bed. My pajamas and socks sit at what feels like a mile away below my feet, mocking me to bend over and pick them up.

"Hey old man," they whisper, "You want some of dis? Come and get us."

Ugh. This is what I get for transitioning from over-the-calf socks to ankle socks. Ankle socks seem to have a lot of anger issues.

NOT TODAY, I think, as I instead try to pick everything up by grabbing each piece with my toes like some kind of decrepit construction equipment. With the precision of an Army Sniper I clutch at my pajamas with my crinkly little toes, snagging them and slowly raising towards my outstretched hand.

Sadly, my pajama pants prove to be too heavy for this endeavor and they only make it about 3 inches off the floor before they fall back to their carpeted home with a "whump."

Dammit.

I take a deep breath as I gather the courage to reach down and try to collect everything in one single swoop, lest I drop a sock and have to repeat the procedure over again. Like tearing off a band-aid, I think the best approach at this time is to try to do this as quickly as possible and hope for the best. Bend and swoop, bend and swoop. COME ON MAN YOU GOT THIS.

UNNNNGGHHHHH!

I wake from my blackout to find my pajamas and socks piled on the crumpled covers beside me. I DID IT. I GOT MY JAMMIES.

I would do a little happy-dance wiggle here but my lower back is killing me. Also my neck is killing me. My right knee hurts and for some reason my left ankle is sore. I am literally falling apart and the sun isn't even up yet.

My dog remains on the covers beside me, duly unimpressed with my recent pajama-grabbing achievement.

He can be such a dick, sometimes.

I reach over and pull my pajama shirt over my head. Of course, I put it on backwards. I have no idea why this happens, but there is a 100% chance that if you try putting a shirt on in the dark, it will go on backwards. There is a 50% chance that it will also be inside-out.

I pull my arms out of my shirt, spin it around, and pull it back on. I have now been awake for three hours and have burned 4,000 calories just trying to get dressed.

I reach over and grab my pajama bottoms and contemplate the best way to actually get them over my feet. Do I lay back on the bed and throw my legs up and risk never actually being able to get myself back up? Do I reattempt another bend at the waist and potentially passing out again? My choices are limited here, so I decide to plop backwards on the bed while simultaneously launching my pajama bottom's waist-opening towards my feet, essentially wrangling them around my ankles like some weird clothing rodeo cowboy.

BAM. ON MY FEET ON THE FIRST TRY.

This day is going swimmingly. I may buy a lottery ticket today if my luck keeps up.

I hoist my jammie bottoms up, and lay on my bed staring at the ceiling. I am exhausted. I contemplate just calling in sick to work at this point but, instead, I roll myself over onto my stomach and plant my feet on the floor.

I stand.

Trumpets blare. Confetti falls around me. A beautiful woman with a sash hands me a bouquet of two dozen roses.

I have done it. I have gotten my pajamas on and gotten out of bed and-

Oh.

Oh no.

My socks.

I look down and see my socks still lying on my bed. I crane my creaky neck down to see my bare feet poking out of the bottom of my backwards, inside-out pajama pants ARE YOU KIDDING ME HOW DID IT NOT NOTICE THAT.

I look at my socks.

I look at my feet.

I look at my socks.

I contemplate sitting back down on the bed and trying to get them on. At this point, however, I feel that my best shot at actually putting socks on would be to just throw them at my feet and hope for the best.

I instead grab them and head out the bedroom door towards the glorious aroma of coffee brewing. Maybe, just maybe, once I get some caffeine in me and loosen up a bit, I'll be able to finish getting dressed.

[6 AM]

On the couch, barefoot, with my coffee in one hand and my pair of socks crumpled up on the couch beside me, I open my laptop and send my boss an email:

Subject: Working from home today.