The Morning

I have often struggled with the morning – it is such a dramatic time. You find yourself lying there in a toasty marshmallow, your comfort levels at a crazed inordinate level – just lounging with the cosy satisfaction that you are sleeping past your alarm…and you don’t even care…time strolls by, and thoughts circle around – illusory conversations; people telling you that you’re great, interviews with people you will likely never meet, groundbreaking specials featuring the one and only…you know, the usual…but then…

BRAAAAP! BRAAAAP! BRAAAAP!



The alarm signals again – and it’s evil is similar to that of a debt collector…leaving you alone for just enough to get comfortable again, and then all of a sudden its back again, banging at your door – but this time with even more ferocity. This time maybe it’ll smash stuff up, and break your knee caps…or at least that’s what it seems like, because stepping out of this world of comfort into the frosty real world sounds just as bad.

Every morning I really want to do an Office Space – that is just ignore the alarm quite literally, and just not care about the adult consequences. Just not turn up, and not care. But every morning I argue with myself…that is two sides of me battle it out in my brain. The lazy one, and the anxious psychopath who worries about everything – they’re not the best team…they say opposites attract or whatever – but not in this case.

It’s like I am in one of those three legged races, and they are strapped to each other…one is lifeless, and snoozing away, the other desperately berating, and beating the other – demanding they at least reach that finish line…but I can’t, I won’t…I don’t…



“GET UP, GET UP, GET UPPPPPP!” I say aloud, somehow this gives it more power, more meaning…and I listen…

Every, single, morning. I’m toying with the idea of sleeping on a bed of nails – so that I want to get out once that alarm rings – but I bet I would still get comfortable somehow