There is something about waking up in the morning. The alarm goes off. I try to ignore the fact that I must get up but then do (albeit reluctantly). Holding the handrail and sliding my hand along the wall, I groggily make my way down the stairs as if I’m half blind. Coffee. I need coffee.
Minutes later, I climb back into bed with coffee in hand and ease into the day. It is peaceful. YaYa is still asleep and the sun seems equally as reluctant to get the day going. I sip my coffee, notice my breathing and, when I’m ready, start to connect to the rest-of-world by reading emails and checking into the social networking sites. News will come later – maybe — when I’m ready for doom and gloom — but not now.
About the time the sun is on the verge appearance, I leave the warmth of my bed, wake YaYa, and prepare to face the day. This action is slight but the resulting effect is extreme.
Rather quickly the hustle and bustle takes hold the morning. The result is chaotic and out of control – no matter how much I try to temper it. Already, my attention is being pulled to the long list of to-do’s and problems without visible solutions. And the stress builds as quickly as the sun rises.
I return to YaYa’s room to find he is still in bed. Meanwhile, much time has slipped away. “Get up!” I insist, before hurrying away to continue getting myself ready.