Coming to terms with the morning

It’s another fuzzy-headed morning, waking with a foul taste on the tongue.  I’m busy suffocating on raw lungs and a stuffy nose, trying to shake the feeling of assumed amnesia.  Bladder fit to burst, I slide the snooze to stop and grumpily throw the covers back.  There I lay for a moment or two as the chill seeps into my skin.  Only when the goosebumps start to rise on my flesh do I stand, stretch and stalk to the bathroom.  There I sit naked, my flesh cringing from cold porcelain with my forehead in my hands, my hair a mess.  I stand and stretch myself over the sink to peer bemusedly into the mirror.  A hand runs across my scalp, and I half-heartedly rub the sleep and remnants of makeup from my lids.  Bending down I wash my hands and splash my face in gaspingly cold water.  Already my feet are freezing on the cold linoleum, but I raise my eyes to the mirror again.  The lines on my face are reminders of my pillow, or are just reminders.  My lips are puffed with sleep, my cheek peppered with small blemishes.  The water brings a blush to my cheeks, relieving a bit of my pallor, but I still look rough.  With a heavy sigh or a  scoff I continue my morning routine, half asleep or no.  Clothes, a touch of makeup, a quick brush, a bowl of unremarkable cereal, shoes, a coat and purse, and a cold, cold car all finish off my morning.  All the while I am daydreaming of my bed. . .

Some people are cradled in sleep like little lambs, and wake gently with beauty and grace.  Their eyes open lovely and clear, a shy smile touching their lips.  They pop out of their beds as if on springs, glad to start their day.

I on the other hand, wake only grudgingly to hem and haw and grouch and moan.  I scratch myself, and when I finally rise from bed I hunch along in a most unattractive manner (while most likely muttering under my breath.) Monosyllabic and irritable, I probably seem some sort of goblin.

Mornings are not a beautiful rebirth for me.

No, they are more an expulsion.


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