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Jul. 18th, 2001 11:21 amMornings are the bane of my existence.
There that first rush when your jolted from sleep by your alarm or a dream. It pushes you out of bed, ready to start the day. Then your brain realizes how much it liked sleeping, and tries to shut down again. It takes all of your energy just to dress, remember your electronic ball and chain, gym clothes, the lunch you made the night before. Sometimes you can gain some energy back walking to the T stop, but that fades most of the way there and you want to stretch out on the sidewalk, letting other morning zombies step over your prone body, eyes cast away, locked in their own auto pilot.
The T. Your bed away from home. Plop down into a seat, maybe glance at the Metro to witness death, absurdity, the odd bread and circus, and occasionally something really cool. Or close your eyes and try to regain a few blissful moments of sleep w/out missing your stop. Count on the hordes exiting and entering at Park St. and Downtown Crossing to wake you: the organic alarm clock, complete with snooze button.
Mornings are when I'm at me weakest. I'm generally tired, caffinated, and the walls around my psyche are thin and fragile. A barrage of work that I could handle later brings me close to splitting my skull open. My contempt of other people is higher. My self esteem is lower. I spend too much time forgetting about the good things I've done, the good people I know, and tread the old familiar paths, worn like wagon ruts in my soul. Then by the time I reach lunch and eat, I'm finally awake and alert. The walls are shorn up and reinforced, defenses ready, heart optimistic.
It could be related to diet. It could be related to not getting enough sleep. But the brain has it own ruts, it doesn't want to shut down. It thinks that six hours is perfectly acceptable for sleep. I'd agree, but the lethargy I feel is a strong argument against.
This is why I hate mornings.
There that first rush when your jolted from sleep by your alarm or a dream. It pushes you out of bed, ready to start the day. Then your brain realizes how much it liked sleeping, and tries to shut down again. It takes all of your energy just to dress, remember your electronic ball and chain, gym clothes, the lunch you made the night before. Sometimes you can gain some energy back walking to the T stop, but that fades most of the way there and you want to stretch out on the sidewalk, letting other morning zombies step over your prone body, eyes cast away, locked in their own auto pilot.
The T. Your bed away from home. Plop down into a seat, maybe glance at the Metro to witness death, absurdity, the odd bread and circus, and occasionally something really cool. Or close your eyes and try to regain a few blissful moments of sleep w/out missing your stop. Count on the hordes exiting and entering at Park St. and Downtown Crossing to wake you: the organic alarm clock, complete with snooze button.
Mornings are when I'm at me weakest. I'm generally tired, caffinated, and the walls around my psyche are thin and fragile. A barrage of work that I could handle later brings me close to splitting my skull open. My contempt of other people is higher. My self esteem is lower. I spend too much time forgetting about the good things I've done, the good people I know, and tread the old familiar paths, worn like wagon ruts in my soul. Then by the time I reach lunch and eat, I'm finally awake and alert. The walls are shorn up and reinforced, defenses ready, heart optimistic.
It could be related to diet. It could be related to not getting enough sleep. But the brain has it own ruts, it doesn't want to shut down. It thinks that six hours is perfectly acceptable for sleep. I'd agree, but the lethargy I feel is a strong argument against.
This is why I hate mornings.
