Morning Has Broken
I was born first thing in the morning, or at least so I’m told. I have no memory of the event itself, as I was not yet a day old. Maybe the timing of my arrival explains why mornings are still my favorite part of the day.
While some folks scowl and grumble at the dawn, I take a different attitude: the sun somehow rises with me specifically in mind. This is the conceit of my all-too-brief Louis XIV moments. 'Tis true, I derive sadistic pleasure in waking other people.
All of my best ideas come in the fresh, dewy quiet of morning. Even problems that might have seemed intractable at bedtime now present clues for their unraveling. My batteries are fully charged when I awake and most things seem possible. First on my order of business, breakfast:
McDonald’s now serves breakfast all day long — the folks over at the golden arches have clearly lost their minds. They do not understand breakfast and its special place in the sacred moments we call morning. Micky D’s had it right back in the day when Birdie literally burst onto the scene to promote Egg McMuffins. Now any lazy schmo can get a plate of pancakes and hash browns, regardless of whether s/he has risen to greet the dawn.
I am the sort of person non-morning-people cannot stand. Those resentful saps clutch their coffee cups and bemoan the loss of night — nevermind the next one whose arrival is fast approaching. Wet blankets all, these sourpusses. I would rather they remained in bed until quarter 'til twelve — the time when the morning magic fades. This is when thoughts turn to lunch and I lose my natural advantage over the now fully caffienated. The hens on The View stop clucking about substance around then, cooing instead over Oprah’s favorite earrings and skin serums. Oh, to have the entire world to myself and other morning folk! What could we accomplish in these few golden hours, unspoilt by crusty-eyed sleepyheads?
As is true with so many things in life, my morning glory comes with trade-offs — I get progressively less brilliant all day long. An afternoon disco nap is required should I plan on engaging in any late night activities. Otherwise, I nod and yawn, my intellect plummeting to idiot-levels as my body coasts, nearly spent, into bed on fumes.
If only poker tournaments began at dawn, I would be a wealthy man! Despite the vampire pallor of my skin, I am a son of morning, grasping the day firmly by the balls . . . at least until lunchtime!
and, more often than not . . .