It is warm under my sheets and the cold on my face warns me of what is to come. The sun has yet to rise. The patter of tear-sized raindrops beat a soothing rhythm just outside my window. Through a small opening in my blinds I can see their sublime dance as they catch the dim light from my patio. King Tubby’s “Brace’s Tower Dub No. 2” judiciously encourages me to break away from my bed. I chose that tune carefully. I do not want to be demanded from sleep, nor would I benefit from a lullaby.
I struggle to escape. I say escape because I do not wish to remain; I yearn for productivity – the blessed freedom that awaits the breaking of the shackles of tiredness. I hobble to the restroom and drain what I imagine is the greater part of a gallon of urine. A splash of water on my face. A cold shower, perhaps.
A warm cup of coffee.
This feeling is familiar and a song begins to play in my mind: “As I wipe the sleep from my eyes / will my fondest dream please come true? / crush my heart with a hammer / make purer one / Babylon.” The remainder of the song plays, but I pay it no mind. I wish for to it stop, but even that task requires more energy than I’m willing to give. I feel the coffee doing its job.
I sit down to read the morning news. Politics, business, technology all fail to stir a single atom of energy in my body. I get back up to grab an ice cube from the freezer. If I can drop the temperature in my brew a few degrees I can drink it much faster. Ten minutes left. I sit back down and scan through my emails. A collection of messages I will not read. Into the trash they go.
I put my shoes on. I open the garage. Suddenly the air from outside rushes towards me. The rain drops launch into a thunderous roar like the collection of instruments in an orchestra theater. Mesmerized, I walk gleefully towards them. I smell wet rocks and foliage. The air crisp with life, and I breathe it all in. I notice I’m smiling. There it is. I’m awake. Today is going to be great.