One of Those Mornings

Back in… you know, the old days, after a certain kind of intense and restless night, I would occasionally have these unusually profound, memorable mornings. Grimly humorous. Simultaneous crystalline clarity and complete uselessness. Unable to do anything to stop the merciless day from starting, especially sleep, which was the only right answer.

And in those invincible times, I really thought there was a special virtue in getting on with my day anyway — even by managing to fall asleep an hour after sunrise, but certainly by washing my face, scrambling some eggs, making coffee, going to work. I would feel accomplished, like I had returned from some exhausting voyage that expanded the territory of human experience, lived to tell about it, and returned to the world bearing unique gifts.

I think I would have grown more in those days if I had known that someday every morning would be one of those mornings.