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M is for Morning

Oh, Morning, why do you torment me so? How have I offended you to deserve the symphony of barking dogs, chattering squirrels and shrieking birds delivered to me in stereo with the volume set to 11? What social snub have I offered that would require a bathroom tile floor so cold that penguins roosting on it would migrate to warmer climates? What horrible insult have I hurled at you for my bathroom light switch to be connected to the sun?

Please, Morning, accept my apology for every injury I may have caused you previously and in the future. We can start over, try again to be friends. If I behave, maybe the next time I get up early to exercise with you, the kids will not wake up five minutes into my workout and refuse to go back to sleep. If I call myself a “Morning Person,” perhaps the next time I arise to see the sunrise and enjoy a cup of coffee with you, my mother’s radar won’t pick up on the fact that I’m awake and call me to discuss what my children want for Christmas for the hundredth time.

Oh, Morning, who am I kidding? We can never be friends – not when my bed is so cozy and warm. Not when Evening and I are out late having a cocktail together or reducing the recently reanimated dead to tiny bloody bits of rotting flesh on the Wii. Or both. I’m sorry we have to have such an adversarial relationship, Morning. I really am. Now will you please tell those freaking dogs to shut up so I can go back to bed?

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