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Bah. With the exception of tomorrow, all of my shifts this next week are morning ones. How awful.

I don’t quite know how to explain why I detest mornings so much…but here are some things I have noticed–

I feel physically ill when I have to wake up early. Even if I get adequate sleep, my body seems to reject the hours between 6-11am. I have tried not eating breakfast, but that doesn’t seem to affect it at all. So I eat my poptarts or waffles or piece of fruit and feel miserable and wish that I were a plant, because then I could be excited about the sunshine and bask quietly without having to concern myself with eating or not eating, or with having a digestive system at all.

I hate people. I especially hate the television. So when I wake up before dawn (which I hate, but starting out my day in darkness seems to slightly counteract the sick feeling), and my dad wakes up and comes downstairs when I am having breakfast with my cat…and he brings down our most excitable dog, and she wants to bounce all over me and he wants to talk and turns on the TV and watches the news and offers a (slightly gleeful) commentary on how bad he thinks my drive across town is going to be…

Usually colours the next few hours in a murdery-red for me. Because in the mornings, I just want to be left the fuck alone.

I also feel uncomfortable about the lighting situation. Because over the last six years, I have grown so unaccustomed to seeing things in the AM that it looks wrong to me…the sun is making the shadows go in the wrong direction, and there is a bright newness to the light that is different from midday or afternoon, when the light is mellowed…it’s disconcerting.

I mean–how exactly do you tell people that you don’t like mornings because the shadows are the wrong way and NOT sound like a crazy?

You don’t. Of course.

Anyway. Time for bed. And I won’t even be tempted to stay up, reading, as the next book in my tbr stack is a primer on literary theory. Because for *SOME* reason, 21-year-old me thought that after I left college, I might still be interested in that. And I kind of am…but only for two reasons. And only kind of.:

1) I never did manage to grasp what the hell deconstructionism was about. I think about it sometimes, and it’s the sort of fleeting thing…like when you are near a small wild animal, like a chipmunk or a tiny bird…and you want to see it more closely, but you know that if you move, it will startle and get away from you…and I always move and deconstructionism gets away. I can’t think about it properly.

2) Marxist theory. OMG, I want to throttle my professors. They’d try and teach us these “theories”, without giving us the background necessary…and Marxism, in my classes, boiled down to “tell me about the way characters in this book represent social classes”. Except that is way oversimplified, and I don’t like that it was taught to me as being that simple…

I don’t know. I got “close reading” and I get (I suppose) feminist or “queer” theory, which were the other two they always stressed to us…and there were a few others that I can’t even remember being interested in (and also can’t remember having drilled into my brains), but…I don’t know. What good is any of it to me right now? Could not tell you. An exercise in thinking about things, I guess (because I so obviously need to do more of that).

…and now I really will go to bed. And wake up tomorrow, feeling ill and murderous. My favourite two feelings.