In the morning, waking up is crucial to setting the mood for the day. Most days, I wake up with a sense of time pressing down on me with 400 metric tons of pressure. Admittedly, it could be worse. It could be 401 metric tons of pressure. The only thing to do in those cases is get moving. Not a fun singalong, bluebirds and field mice dressing you, Disney princess kind of morning. But every once in a while that magical kind of morning happens.
On these rare occasions I wake up . My eyes flutter slowly open, emphasizing my gorgeous long eyelashes. I rise to sit ramrod straight in bed. My arms raising and spreading as I yawn away the sleep. I swing my feet over the side of my bed into a pair of slippers brought to me by friendly woodland critters. I float down the hallway to expel my bowels. When I reach out for toilet paper, only to discover there is none, a couple of hummingbirds flutter in carrying a new roll. Their wings tickle my cheeks as they clean me. In the kitchen, I come across a friendly hen scrambling her own eggs with cheese. Nearby, one of my dogs carves the bacon off of a happy dancing pig. As I sit down, they all break into a fun tune and my teapot and mug dance over to me. After breakfast, I’m bathed in a waterfall by everyone who’s helped me up until this point.
On normal days, I wake up to a shrill alarm. I jump out of bed and rush to the bathroom. There’s no toilet paper so I. Jump in the shower as a disgusting, improvised bidet. I rush through cleaning my body. I brush my teeth, then curse because I haven’t eaten. I run into the kitchen and realize I don’t have time to make tea. All I have to drink is orange juice. I desperately start scrambling some eggs and don’t realize some egg shell has fallen in. The pig is grumpily being cut up. Not even dancing.
I guess what I’m trying to say is treat yourself every once in a while.