I wake up every morning and immediately turn on the news – local followed by national. It’s become comfortable for me. I like the people, sort of feel connected to them.
I’m not star-struck by the anchors. I feel like they’re my cousins. Would love to have them over for dinner one night or maybe enjoy a weekend camping trip together. George Stephanopoulos, Robin Roberts and me, sitting by a campfire roasting wieners and telling ghost stories.
This morning I had to get up really early to get Stephanie to school for her eighth grade overnight trip to Washington, DC. So, I tuned in at 5 am.
Never miss a local story.
When I returned from the drop off, the same stories were running in hour two that had been covered in hour one.
It was reiterated to me that:
- My car could explode and kill me due to a recall.
- I shouldn’t sit near the window at the Mexican restaurant because it is possible for a vehicle, being operated by an 86-year-old, could likely drive through the wall making me part of the guacamole dip.
- I could have been exposed to the deadly MERS virus at the airport last week, and if so, it could also kill me – and quickly.
- If I run into Justin Bieber, I should keep my cell phone in my pocket because he might try to confiscate it. At least if he does, I can sue him.
- My kids are going to be stupid because all of our good teachers are quitting because they don’t make enough money.
- My tires might explode or simply fall apart while in motion.
- God may have been driving a stolen landscaping truck – or it might just be a dude claiming to be God, the investigation is underway.
I had heard all of this “news” during the 5 o’clock hour, but I think I’ve become so immune to the tragic nature of their message that it took the 6 o’clock repeat for it to sink in.
It’s no wonder I’m cranky in the mornings. This is how I start every single day.
I think I’m going to turn the channel. At least there are other great options: Dr. Phil, Sexy Abs and Escape to Chimp Eden.
…maybe I should just read.
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