Sunrise, sunrise, looks like morning in your eyes

A few minutes ago I read something somewhere about mornings. Or maybe the word "morning" was mentioned just in passing. Which got me thinking.

Morning and I have a very inconsistent relationship. Kind of like that one guy you liked for too long. One day you hate him, the next day you love him. Total despair, fragile exultation, total despair, fragile exultation. Repeat.

So yeah, Morning is kind of like that.

There are days when I'm up early and walking to class when it's still kind of dark and it's cold and I'm crossing my fingers that some car doesn't plow me down in the crosswalk--and I think that Morning is the best time of day. Or when I'm waiting to meet someone at 8am in the east end of the JKB and I'm so glad that I arrive first. Because that means I can sit on a bench. It's quiet. I'm alone. And heat that was contained in my jacket is free to slough off my body in gentle, invisible ripples. I hold Morning in my cupped hands and breathe it in like blossoms in April. Then Morning is good.

But sometimes Morning and I don't get along. Morning arrives too soon, coming in without knocking. Sometimes Morning rudely taps her forefinger on my head until I open my eyes and admit she's there. She brings with her the anxiety and panic that keep me awake at night--when I don't want to fall asleep because it means waking up. Or Morning acts like she did today. She makes my throat thick and sore. She sends cloudy, painful waves through my head, she stiffens my shoulders. Then Morning is the time of day I dread the most.

I used to be more of a "night person." I guess now I'm a "morning person." But mostly by default. I'm not good at staying up late.