Mornings, and Why I Hate Them.

I am not a morning person. Morning comes way too early in the day for my liking. If it was later, I’m certain I would like it much better. As it is, the point of morning is to be early and that is why I am not a fan. Often, my mornings consist of me telling myself I’ll get up in five minutes at consistent five-minute intervals. It doesn’t matter that my bed is extraordinarily uncomfortable, the minute my alarm goes off to alert me that it is time to start my day, I suddenly seem to become more comfortable and cozy than I’ve ever been in my life, and getting up becomes increasingly difficult.

Now, I’m certain that my disdain for morning is due to the fact that I have difficulty sleeping, and often only get two or three hours in the wee hours of the morning. When you get to sleep at four and then get roused from hard-earned slumber at seven, you grow to loathe the incessant screaming of the alarm tone that, while you were wide awake and infinitely less irritable, seemed like the best and least annoying tone in the list of options your phone provided you with.

I don’t have a particularly taxing job. Well…I do work in customer service, but I’ll air those grievances another time. No, the point is that I don’t get up early like my dad and my brother (the fine lads I live with), and I don’t do manual labour for eight hours a day, so in terms of early mornings, it could be said that I have it relatively easy. Alas, I still cannot say that mornings and I agree with each other. Yet another reason for my hatred towards the earliest time of the day is due to the fact that I do work, and I hate my job.

Mornings, you see, become considerably more unbearable on those days that I know I have to go to work. It makes it hard to get out of bed and face the world and I often find myself pulling the covers over my head and stubbornly refusing to budge from my bed, while an internal monologue plays out in my head, explaining all the reasons why, yes, I actually do need to get up and no, I cannot call in sick because I am in need of all the money I can get.

Mornings too, come with bad cases of bed hair and yesterday’s mascara smeared under my eyes, giving me the look of one who wishes she were a panda. There is the whole need to pee versus staying warm argument you go through in winter and the continuous chirping of the birds outside your open window in summer – which might sound lovely but waking up to incessant ‘birdsong’ is often frightfully irritating.

The truth is, I’m sure that mornings have some merit. Maybe I would find them more appealing if I slept well and had a job I loved and got to wake up each morning next to the love of my life or something. Or maybe I’d still hate them, and I would just like my life better.

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