Grisly affairs

Early morning horrors comprise of moments on weekdays when you wake up during dull early morning light with the birds and head for kitchen, half asleep still, hair a scarecrow chic and eyes puffier than fugu and thoughts a shade more poisonous.
Horrors continue still when you're trying to pry lose an eye that has itself stuck in a momentary dream, lodged between wishes and reality.
Fixing breakfast after packing lunch which happens after arranging dried dishes, silverware, glasses from last night in their respective shelves is more than enough to kill anybody's zen; if zen were a person then it sits bleeding out of its eviscerated wound, while flies buzz about its bloated body and maggots crawl out of its eye socket.
Somewhere between delicious thoughts of seppuku and obtaining serial killer diploma you realise that the worst is over, that you've successfully wielded a santoku and wielded it responsibly only chopping veggies and fruits, and that what had to be done is finally done, and is being done for years now and will continue on forever, and that each morning these revisiting vile thoughts are nothing but heinous, and oh so comforting.
Morning tortures successfully undertaken with nary a complaint even though the heart continues to rot still.

But are these the kind of morning one wants? Really?

My ideal morning has me sit still on the bed after waking up, while the defocused realm of our existence slowly adjusts itself into a linear vision, sharpening a little with every passing slow minute until everything is only a shade blur, for that's when I reach out for my spectacles.

I can't be bothered with being up and about fussing over lunch and chopping onions the first thing before even having a drink of water.
No! I want to wake up, do nothing for a good long while, and then slowly, lazily begin taking a feel of my surroundings, in silent mode only please.

Making conversations, chatting, smiling even is a gruesome affair in mornings and something I can only manage under extreme circumstances which would involve me dancing over dead bodies with hob nailed boots, and we can't have that.

So just nothing, save reaching out for a languid sip of warm water to shake the sleep out of me for at least 15 minutes after which I unhurriedly crawl out of bed and unceremoniously make the bed, fold sheets, smooth over pillows, pull up curtains and let in a semblance of some light.

Now I'm fine world. Let me at it I'd say, alas, such are not the comforts that weekends are inclined to provide.
However, were I to wake up even earlier then all of the above could be a possibility.
Waking up earlier than I wake up now..hmm.., that'd involve me waking up just a few hours after midnight and that's a no go.

So what does one do? Nothing, save collect a fine repository of lovely curses and hurl them at universe given every opportunity.