Mornings aren’t really my cup of tea, or rather, coffee; I drink coffee in the morning. My blood pressure is naturally low and everything in the morning seems to alter it, cataclysmically increase it, is the correct wording. It could be in some way cosmologically connected with the universe, some kind of karma crap thing – but the important thing is: I dislike mornings, because nothing good really comes from a morning, but it is nevertheless necessary to get up. Think about it, when did any morning begin great? Well, you’re thinking, it did, on some days, but if you really think about it, if you put your mind to things, you can see it never does begin great. You had to get up for god’s sake! And if you have to get up, nothing good comes of the day, trust me. The days when you don’t have to get up – those are the days it’s worth getting up for. But those don’t come along that often. To come back to the point I wanted to make earlier, but obviously, the mind works in mysterious ways, mine with seriously cliché wording, ah, well. But no, seriously, I always felt getting up early should be prohibited by law. They should put it in the constitution or something. Rising prohibited till 8 o’clock in the morning! Breach of this law will be punished by confinement in bed. But who in his right mind would break this law?
Now, if we look at my standard morning procedure: I do not rise early. And I despise early rising, especially if it is involuntary. The first moment you open your eyes should be a calm, serene moment, accompanied with gentle musical tones, the delightful delicious smell of breakfast in bed or at least it should be 8 o’clock. 10 o’clock is even better. The reality is that my mornings often do not start like this, though I firmly insist on my late-rising procedure. Rather, they start like this: with a deep and grumpy m-m-m-mmmm, a painful aaa-a-a-a shriek, and with an angry expression written across my face and forehead asking my boyfriend if a look like a morning person to him (which is the actual inscription on the covering-eyes-thingy-for-sleeping-when-it’s-very-bright-at-night). Then the-somebody-woke-me-up scenario unravels something like this: the indecent mumblings are followed by consecutive phrases of mono- and di-syllabic words and when I actually gain consciousness, which is usually an hour after somebody woke me up, I am able to form coherent sentences, complex paragraphs and intricate texts, which constitute my daily conversations. However, the first thing I need to do is apologize for my early grouchiness. But, I feel I am entitled to a little grumpiness (see what I did here? grouchiness, grumpiness… ‒ never mind), if I am woken up for no good reason, and mostly there are no good reasons for waking me (at least I don’t view them as credible). If the house is on fire, wake me up, otherwise leave me alone and exit quietly.
Consider for instance my morning today. The marvelous un-solitary lying in bed. It’s always nice when you have somebody in bed with you, right? Wrong. People are considered to be social creatures, enjoying the presence of another of our kind, so our pathetic wining has an addressee. Pf, people. All right then, going back to the marvelous… marvelous? didn’t I use that word before – oh yes, there it is, a few lines back, ok then – glorious, going back to the glorious extended state of the body, the spine stretching in your sleep, if you’re sleeping right, otherwise it hunches and hurdles into a stiff mass of painful areas, which you can’t even reach, so for the day, you’ll have to endure, or pay for a massage, ah, Thai massage, it really is great, isn’t it? If you haven’t had one, you should, that’s all I’m going to say. So yes, the horizontal comfort of sleeping – it’s hideously broken if you have a person by your side in bed and the bed is small. If you have a king size mattress, ultra soft, super anti-mite, anti-allergies yada yada yada of the commercial phrases they throw in so you feel you’re getting the most for your buck; well if you have that kind of bed, then I think it would be ok. It’s not ok, when a person has to climb over you to get out of bed, and of course, of course, bumps into you, waking you, scaring you – somebody instantly standing over your head, and you start looking for the dagger in their right hand. ‘Murdered in bed’ the headline would say. Creepy.
Where was I? Aha, my morning today. Well, holding the blanket firmly by both hands, hands crossed over the sides of my neck neatly tucked in under the blanket – a technique I flatter myself I invented. I haven’t met a person who sleeps this way. The tucked feet, you know, with the blanket over and then under your feet, I’ve seen that, but not the crossed hands. Come to think of it, I probably look like a mummy, but without the golden scepter, the death mask and without actually being dead (very important). Mornings are brutal and sometimes you do feel like you’re dead already. But I somehow manage to look beautiful in the morning. The day ruins that, don’t worry. So tucked in carefully so the tossing, turning, switching positions doesn’t expose a part of my body to the enemy – air, I guess; you know, because you get cold if your feet or your hands are dangling out of bed. Another unpleasant thing is, when your arm falls asleep resulting from a position you don’t have the ability to explain. So tucked in, sleeping heavenly, the dreamless beauty sleep, peaceful, calm without the slightest idea this heaven is going to end in 3, 2, 1. Noise. A car crash of cereal boxes and the annoying metallic rustling of plastic bags holding the actual cereal, the earthquake-alert – opening and closing cabinets, hammering down that it’s morning, the explosive sporadic clatter of dishes and spoons, forks, and knives that want to kill you.” Are you kidding me!” a rhetorical question – and you better not answer it and piss me off.
I grab my lost comfort, my blanket, and pull it over my head. This is going to be great. I don’t have to get up for 2 hours, but looky now, I am up. With murderous thoughts in my head, knowing I won’t be able to fall asleep again when the noise stops, I get up and put on for a cup of coffee. The cup that holds the last remaining shred of hope, no sugar please, my life is sweet enough. Oh, and did I mention the headache?