I'm not a breakfast person.
I take that back -- I love breakfast, but I am a confirmed night owl and I just am rarely up early enough to make a difference between breakfast and lunch. And I'm not usually hungry right after I wake up, so maximizing sleep before rushing out the door to work when I was working make breakfast near an impossibility.
But today, today I celebrate. For the past few weeks, I've had the darnedest time sleeping. When I get stressed, sleep eludes me, and then I'm up in the middle of the night and it's so quiet and calm, it's a shame to waste that island of calm in the middle of the storm with sleep, so everything gets off kilter and I feel even worse. And I don't get hungry. So sleep and hunger goes... not a sustainable method of living, huh?
But last night, I slept. 7.5 hours of blissful sleep -- while it was dark. At a normal sleep time. Of course, that means I woke up at 6:30 this morning, which oy, who's up at 6:30? My flatmate, but I digress. On the other hand, we have such thin walls, and she has such a pleasant alarm...
But I was up after sleeping and I decided -- I want breakfast. But not cold cereal and milk 'borrowed' from my flatmates. No, I want breakfast.
I want eggs cooked in real butter. I want bacon cooked to crispy -- or as close as I can get to crispy with the thicker cut bacon here. Seriously, streaky bacon is close to American bacon, but still cut too thick. And I want grits, that lovely taste of home. A croissant to mop up the runny egg and a delivery system for more butter.
Oh, and tea with a splash of milk. Hey, I'm in the UK -- I've developed a few British habits after all.