Waking Up

It's not very often that geniuses wake up with a crazy and fantastical idea about what time it is and where they are and what's going on and whether or not they are a member of the CIA.
That's why I'm the Anti-Genius.
Mornings can be crazy. I'm one of those people who has a hobby. My hobby is sleeping. My hobby is dreaming. About anything, really. Dreaming is just life being awesome, and dancing, and screaming in your face with flailing limbs, dancing up and down, yelling, "Hey, over here, look! YEAH I'M AWESOME!" Or something along those lines. Long story short, I like to dream more than anything else.

I'm sure that you've had the morning bout of confusion before: You wake up in a panic. You think that you've gotten up late, so you spring to your feet in a flurry of flying blankets, begin to tug on your jeans, and then realize that your alarm clock isn't even supposed to go off for another hour.
What's my first thought in the morning?
Murhurhurhur. (That's my take on the classic ol' "mwahahahahaha"). I spring out of bed thinking:
I've been separated from the time continuum. My entire bedroom has shifted to a time frame two hours before that of the normal world, thus cutting my connection to everything else, and meaning that although my intended location doesn't need me outside of the bubble I'm trapped in, here in this bubble of shifted time I am in fact supposed to be there and currently late, ergo the fractured time stream means that I've fallen into a dual late/early predicament that is entirely inescapable, and there is no way to undo its consequences!

My second thought is, "Dear goodness, that doesn't even make any sense."