Morning chimera

To say that I couldn't believe my enthusiasm this morning would be like saying the sun is warm because I'd be grossly understating it.
I was full of beans in a way that I couldn't believe myself.
The kitchen was on fire, I'd cooked up a storm and packed food like a fantasy bento.
I was frying up rice, stacking sandwiches, cutting fruits and even made a small flax seed muffin to serve as a healthy in between lunch snack and without breaking a sweat or as much as mopping my brow.
Yikes!
The dishes were washed, I was glowing with cordial luminescence of efficient domesticity and was taking off my apron before the clock even sang seven.
So astonished was I at my morning zeal that I woke up to find myself still in bed, my room alight with soft brightness streaming through my new gauzy curtains and the clock singing seven.
I was dreaming and I'd overslept.
This dream was my body's way of keeping me back in the bed by showcasing a perfect morning the way I'd always wished it would go.
I was far too late to do anything and so I curled back under the thick folds of my flowery prison, cozily volcanic and slept some more until it was almost eight.

Yes, I did it take it that bit further and now I wonder why I didn't wake up on my usual time.
I blame the winters and it's still a mystery to me as to how people willingly wake up at four and go about their day? I see some people begin tending their garden at five and in fact back home my folks do the same.
How is my question when I can't muster the strength to wake before six (even though I have to) and hate every inch of it when morning people are near gallivanting at the thought of being up and about early.