Good Mourning

When you wake up to a day still darker than midnight wetter than clouds and colder than a zombies heart it's best to let the day unravel into whatever little insidious plan it has in store while you glide with an air of nonchalant indifference.
As inimical as your surroundings may be what with the noxious fumes of threatening mundanity curling about your legs, slowly creeping into your spine before finally snapping its prosaic jaws of banal humdrum and swallowing your poor self in a burp of routine chores you mustn't forget that as ever you hold the power to turn around the tides of all that you suffer or complaint.. except weather, and it's a bit about weather that I shall now begin to complain.

I might have mentioned my hatred with all the emphasis at my disposal about waking up in the wee hours of morning to fix breakfast and pack lunch.
Well unreasonable as it may be the animosity towards early morning waking has escalated into an unbearable aversion to the point of grievance.
It's difficult for my body to react to an alarm when the world outside is still shrouded in opaque black. A soul wouldn't cast shadows even if it tried and then there's incessant rains that make the entire moment of drowsy wakings sound like I were drowning in an indistinct waterfall.

Try as I might, but my body for obvious reasons begins imitating solidified concrete and refuses to budge from its deadish stance.
I'm not a happy person early in the morning by no means. Usually grumpy, somber, mute and irritated. Now add to that this morning fraction into the equation and I'm a regular Ed Gein.

I'm not complaining about waking up in the morning by no means. It's the time I wake up that Ive a problem with. Had it been a merry 7:00 am I'd have been a beaming babe, shrugging off my linens and blankets with a poetic flourish, before daintily stepping off the bed and swimmingly going about my day with a song on my lips and a kiss on my tongue.
But waking an hour and a half before the above mentioned time brings none of the joy de vivre I might have in store; rather all of it gets inverted into a poisonous rage that often boils over..Mostly here in this white space of virtual audacity where I know someone knows and understands.

Hearts.