I hate mornings.

I hate mornings. I really do…, no, I loathe mornings. And I’m not just being biased against any old morning such as the overly maligned Monday morning, Monday doesn’t have anything over any other mornings. I hate all mornings just the same,  When all i can comprehend through the haze of what little consciousness there is sparked into life by the morning, all i can reason is the warmth of the body next to me, the sheets against my skin and the pillow under my head. Flappy, the canary’s usually welcome song is nothing more than grating chirpy noise echoing up the stairs.. set to the key of I’m going to come downstairs and feed you to the cat in C#! God, how does something so small get so loud. Noise, no better than the brrrrrrrrr of the alarm clock shouting at me, followed by the radio going off about someone calling in to morning chat complaining the he had left her… in some very colorfully sad way set to a country song. It probably happened in the morning.. she probably deserved it. I despise early mornings even more… while its still dark out. The crack of the morning light peeking over the horizon,… the rays fuzzy through the trees, banishing into the shadows the comfortable cloak of darkness,.. mocking me… having itself a snarky smile at my expense.

And i lay there.. hating the morning. Slowly losing the will to fight it, succumbing to its growing brightness lighting up my window, my bed and my world.., the fog in my mind slowly receding. By now, the body is willing, the mind is not and the spirit is contemplative at best…… need java. Its not that I did not have a great nights sleep with glorious dreams i only wish i could remember. I seem to have some built in preset that morning only comes at nine thirty-ish or so… If there was ever a person who proclaimed not being a morning person, that’s me right there. There has to be an ICD-10 code for this.., its a malady… although I’ve been assured its not and i’m not alone.

And i stand there, toothbrush limp in hand, leaned over the sink,.. looking out,…  and hating the morning. It glares at me, and i glare back. I know i’m not going to win this as i go through the almost automatic motions of daily life… I’ve wondered why I’ve never forgotten to put on underwear or pants for that matter of fact before stumbling down the stairs to only be greeted by more morning… It’s because I’m too busy hating the morning.. base instinct puts me through the motions, just enough to get me by, bleary eyed,.. until the morning overwhelms my senses into wakefulness…. and the smell of coffee fills the kitchen, much to the Flappy’s annoyance., the hate waning, senses returning and I prepare to defend myself against all that the morning has to throw at me with piping hot coffee drawn. My steel cup glistening in the morning light! With overly optimistic determination of bringing to submission what ever challenges the rest of the morning lay  ahead for me, coiled, ready to pounce, teeth bared, snarling,…, I intrepidly make my way up the stairs, Flappy’s battle cry over my shoulder leading the charge,….  to face my 10 year old’s morning……





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