Thing a Week 39: The 39th Thing a Week... by me.

This is another post where I have to edify, entertain and elucidate! It fails in two of the three, but you will have the decide which ones these are on your own.

Anyway, my subject today is something that I hold dear to my heart, namely: my hatred of mornings. I've already chronicled my uncomfortable relationship with sunlight, but what I have not mentioned is that my hatred grows and wanes with the time. Obviously, there is a seasonal cycle, with summer (or "hot face burny ouch time" as I like to call it) at the top of my impotent rage scale, but there is also a daily rageometer operating as a subroutine on the motherboard of my consciousnesses. I speak of mornings. I know this is cliche, but I hate mornings. When I first wake up, I consider light to be not just a bane, but an enemy, one towards which I hold a deep, abiding and intensely personal grudge. My body and mind are geared toward a life spent in the twilight hours, and waking is an affront to everything I hold dear (by which I mean my sleep). There is a feeling, as one feels the acid of daylight drip into ones eyes, that the impudent waveicles are laughing, even snickering as they pry away at the bliss of unconscious thought.
And now I'm going to bed, to continue the fight anew come tomorrow.