Morning

This morning I was up before 6am. Hallo!!!! After a night of compulsively watching the last half of season one of a teen TV drama that I don't care to mention, and sleeping for just a few hours, I hit the pavement. Me. It's a miracle. This week I haven't been out of my house before 10.

I have to say that I was amazed at the number of people out on the streets. What is wrong with you people? Is this normal or are you all feeling as strange as I am? People really get up early and grab a coffee and a paper on their way to work? I thought that was reserved for movies or special occasions, like a Saturday morning, in which case it all goes down after 10am.

Ah! The morning. Isn't it wonderful? Birds, darkness, alarm clocks, the advent of a new day. Well, la di freaking dah! Who cares? I surely don't. I hate my alarm clock. I hate the beginning of the day. I hate leaving my bed. I hate the bustle and hurry in the morning. Hate the traffic.

I'm trying to discover the deeper reasons for which I hate mornings. I can't find them. Maybe it's because it's before 7am right now? What I do know is that there exists in me a great dichotomy. At night, the man that goes to bed is full of aspirations, excitement, and convictions for the coming day. Yet, when I wake up in the morning, I'm not the same man that went to bed. Any noble or redeeming qualities have fled. The primitive man has emerged. Generally it takes me at least 30 minutes before I want to consider talking or acknowledging anyone.

That's all the energy or presence of mind I posses at this unnatural hour. I'm out.