Which is southern for “the early hours of the day”. Many people experience many different feelings in the morning. Some crack an eye open, only to have the sun violently penetrate their ocular socket with a burning stab. Others welcome the new day, jumping up into the air and excitedly anticipating what the day may place into their hands. Still others refuse to get up until the sun has begun to set. We will refer to this last group of people as “lucky bastards”. The middle group, either “naive” or “optimistic arse-holes”. The first group, “regular people”. I fit into none of these groups. I will describe what a typical morning entails for me, and you can compare your own in the comment section.

The alarm goes off. My gut reaction causes me to roll over from my back to my left side. My arm is limp, so the motion causes it to arc over my body, and smash onto the snooze button on my Sonic Bomb alarm clock. The second time the alarm goes off, I crack an eye open. I taste bile on my lips, and occasionally a hint of whatever I ingested the previous night. The stench of putrefaction permeates the air, confirming that I am not dreaming, and that I actually have to get up. I may remain in bed, unwilling to face the day, anywhere from another ten minutes to a half hour. Eventually, I lurch out of bed, get dressed, purge unwanted solids and liquids from my lower regions, and then stagger upstairs to nourish myself with different chemically-treated foods, so I may be ready for the day.

That’s my morning. Every morning. The only difference between weekday mornings and weekend mornings being that the alarm doesn’t go off, and I’m somewhat pleased with the day. Somewhat.


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