A harsh morning light permeates my tightly closed eyelids. My ears are raped with an unearthly sound. My eyes shoot open.
Now I bet you ten quid that every single fairy tale ever describes waking up as a glorious, golden rebirth of some kind, in some fancy poetic way that I don't understand.
While this may be beautiful, I have a personal message to any one who has ever/ attempted to write any fairy tale of any kind: in my 19 years of first hand study of waking up on Monday mornings, I have concluded that YOU MUST RETHINK YOUR LIFE. NOW. FOR THE GOOD OF HUMANITY.
I am telling you now, I have never woken up this way, seen anyone wake up this way, and nor do I ever plan to wake up this way.
My "awakening" was more of a god-dammit-my-alarm-is-screaming-in-my-face-and-I -want-to-turn-it-off-now-where-is-the-snooze-oh-Je sus-Christ-please-just-give-me-ten-more-minutes kind of thing. Maybe it's not that soul touching, but I'm not lying.
My short torso is swallowed up in the snug down-filled clouds, which I now realize is the only thing I have not thrown off the bed. Looking at the floor, I now see my three or four pillows strewn over the ground, along with my stuffed puppy which has probably seen the beginning of the universe it is so old. Then I look at my screeching alarm clock- the object which marks the infamous and too-early time of 7:15.
My arm flies out of the bed to shut it off, and my head throbs. I'm definitely going to need an extra shot of caffeine in my coffee today…
My mind is awake (well mostly) but it's almost as though my body refuses to move. Like I am tied to my bed with some invisible bond, beckoning me to not leave the warmth and protection that my incoherently decorated bedroom gives me.
After countless attempts to finally move, at last I swing my legs out of bed and onto the scruffy and out of place pink carpet floor. Everything feels a bit out of place in my house in this moment, and while I may be a bit flustered… its almost comforting- like my house has granted my wish of change.