Gods. Waking up early is painful and progressively gets worse as temperatures drop. Leaving the refuge of your warm bed to bravely tread onto a chore war zone is by no means an easy feat.
Where's my medal? Marriage martyrdom should be a thing. There should be memorials and monuments constructed for those who selflessly push away sizzling enveloping blankets to readily begin soaking their selves in domestic dramas first thing winter mornings.
The immediate pains of waking up so early morning in winters can only be felt. No matter how you try talking yourself into the advantages of a fruitful immediate future, it seems nothing more than bleak and your general disposition is murderous.
Just cranking an eyelid open feels like the most difficult task set upon you and mostly end up trudging through the wee hours with an eye half closed and the other completely shut.
Of course the brain doesn't respond nor cooperate and nor will it since your entire system is still in a shut down mode.
Words tumble in a burble of half baked curses and answers keep themselves limited to a simple subtle nods or grunts. The last thing you feel is loquacious.
Your emotional quotient at such hours is equivalent to that of a zombie, in fact the most well honed zombie could take notes from you.
The one singular thought running in your still dead mind is that of sleep. That you need sleep, you want it, crave it, love it but won't get it. Hopes crashing down, life looking a lot less dolce.
Your only surcease is the soothing gloom of the kitchen, because eyes know how sudden lights tend to knife through irises in the morning.
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