In the Morning

My problem with having a day job is that when I’m forced to get up before the sun, I never want it to come up. In that morpheum opus you experience in the predawn hours, you ride that wave of heightened alertness which brings – to my mind at least – fantasies of far-reaching travels and crazy ass co-ops shit. When I’m in the routine of constantly getting up and out of bed before the sun, I ritually toy with the impossibility of following the never-ending western route that would keep me in a perpetual early morning twilight, so I would never have to give up on that increased awareness: flying around the curvature of the Earth, with the cusp of daybreak chasing my tail, but always managing to keep it in my rearview mirror.

But the sun washes all of that away with it’s glaring clarity. It always catches up. Not to mention, when you commit to being one of those “morning people” – what with your Brooks athletic footwear and your designer cappuccino – you make a sacrifice of that which is most essential to those of my ilk: the night life.  Too many times in my young life have I relinquished a good time on the altar of tomorrow’s productivity because it began to steep too deeply into the wee hours of the morning and I was losing the equally important aspect of a decent night’s sleep.
But to be completely honest (coming from young formative years, riding the public school bus every public school day, forever imagining a future when I wasn’t kept to such an unrelenting schedule, when I could hit the snooze button, roll over and pull the sheets up around my head) the best thing about getting up early in the morning is going back to bed.

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