It may come as a surprise to my cadre of rabid followers (2 readers total) that I am not, in fact, a morning person. I have 'not been a morning person' for my entire life, including my birth, for which I was 2 weeks late. Even then I didn't bother showing up until 4 in the afternoon.
Don't get me wrong. Lot's of great things happen at morning time: Christmas... dew... sunrise...birdsong... wood. No, it's mornings in general that I can do without. The cat jumping onto my face at 5:30 AM to tell me the dog has been sick. The chill on my skin when I struggle out from under the blankets. The sight of my cat peacefully sleeping on my pillow the moment my head vacates it. Tripping over the Rotwieller. Wincing in the bright lights of the mirror. Stairs.
I firmly believe that people who commit random acts of violence would never do so if they hadn't first been ripped from slumber by a harsh world and forced to face the dim reality that they completely forgot to buy more cream for coffee the day before. The only reason I am not currently naked in a tower with a deer rifle is that I found some coffee whitener in the camp box.
Mornings remind us that our bodies are rapidly moving through time. They show us the forgotten debris from the night before. Mornings are usually when appliances break and loved ones become expansively ill on the kitchen floor. Mornings are when you remember the things you have forgotten and wished you hadn't. Mornings are the Universe saying: Now I bet you wish you'd stayed in the trees.
Humans are not meant for mornings. We are meant to be clinging peacefully to the branch, 30 feet above the jungle floor, safe from predators, gently snoring through the dawn chorus. Not sitting here in an
un-ironed shirt, sipping camp coffee and secretly envying the hell out of my cat.
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