I spent my morning commute arguing with myself, weighing pros and cons, trying to decide what this entry would be about. There is the internal (always). And there is the external. Frustration and admiration. Lack of understanding and a world that seems to just make sense. I choose the external. (I'm sure you aren't surprised)
I love mornings. As nice as it is to sleep in on the occasional weekend day, I've always been one to feel guilty when I do have the chance to sleep past 9 or so. It's rather unfortunate that I am one who needs so much sleep because I've also always felt that sleeping is a big waste of my time.
I like the evenings. I bask in the opportunity to come home after a long day, to eat, to sit, to relax. I like relaxation. I like movies (and sometimes television). I like bed, and books, and dim lighting and music. I like knowing that I am done for the day. I prolong evenings. I stay up much later than I need to. I stay up, keep my eyes open, occupy my mind, and then go to bed when I am much too tired.
When I awake in the morning, I must pry my eyes open. I am often resentful about being awake. I crave my bed. Feelings that I think most people have in the morning.
But on the occasional morning that I wake up rested, I often make empty resolutions to get up earlier more often, to go to bed earlier, to change this habit for which I have so much disgust.
I like mornings. I like being able to take my time, to get ready, to take a long shower, to eat if I feel like it, to sit, and wake up slowly.
I like the way light is in the morning, so distinctly different from any other time of day. There are mornings where it is bright. Bright and new. Fresh. Cold. Damp. I like the newness. I like sitting in my car with the morning sun coming in; sitting among the commuters, all in their cars, some with coffee, all fresh and new for the day. (We'll neglect the fact that most of them are probably sleepy)
Then there are the days when morning is more like night. Like this morning. I was sitting in my car on Washington Street (still across from Forest Hills), and a rush of familiarity swept over me. And I think that, until this moment, I couldn't quite pinpoint it. I knew that it was the morning, the light. I thought to myself "Oh how I love mornings that are like night..." Headlights and streetlights were still on everywhere. The streets were wet and black. The sky (and air, it seemed) were grey. It was almost like someone was playing a big joke on the world. Like someone forgot to turn on the lights this morning, but all of these people knew that they still had to get up anyway. A little conspiracy of sorts... a feeling that I'm trying to explain, but failing miserably.
I think I have found the familiarity though of these night mornings. I always walked to school when I was younger. About a mile to school, every morning. Leaving early, walking, arriving.... except on the days when it was rainy (dark). On those days we'd leave about 15 minutes later. My mom would drive us (me and Amanda, usually). And there'd I'd be, in the car, the streetlights on, headlights shining.... It's familiar because the only time I was ever in the car in the morning was on these dark mornings. When morning was like night.
I love morning.
Perhaps someday when I am old, when I'm on my own, when I don't give in so easily to the late-night company of others, I will find a routine of early bed times and early mornings. I will wake up each day and breathe deeply. I will take long showers. I will not rush out the door. I will read the newspaper in my bathrobe on my living room couch (just like my mom).
oh...
08:22 - Wednesday, Oct. 22, 2003
Recent entries:
- - Monday, Dec. 31, 2007
The Moments to Live For - Saturday, Dec. 15, 2007
message of Christmas Peace - Friday, Dec. 07, 2007
just a bunch of breast tissue - Wednesday, Dec. 05, 2007
a poetry reading - Friday, Nov. 30, 2007
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