Misty Morning Melancholy – Dead Deer

Misty Morning Melancholy

Wake. Eyes open slowly, what is this? Oh yes. The familiar room, the familiar feeling. Not this again. Body slumped across the bed, warm and unfeeling. Necessity demands you move. Quitting the vertical comfort is hard enough. Face the day. Christ, not another one? When will it end.

Draw the curtains. Visibility poor, like losing your glasses and peering at a Monet from afar in poor light. What fresh horrors today?

Socks. How many millions of times? It seems that pulling on socks must constitute a significant portion of life. It is a tiresome and annoying task. When will it end? This infernal socking of the part of you that is so distant, the furthest from ‘you’. What is “you”?

Sit on the bed. Half-socked. What is this all? View the day ahead? What is the point of any of it? Time passes. The alarm repeats. Now late, the morning is already taking a turn for the worse. Urgent cajoling needed now, no time for coffee. The clock is the vicious gang-master of the morning. Every single second already spent and however frugal you are there is never quite enough.

Breakfast eaten. Breaking a fast; this should be a joyful time like sunset during Ramadan, as cities come back to life. But no. Shovel it in. Bland, uninteresting, worthy. And now. Stomach uneasily groaning under the enforced strain you leave.

Into the mist. The warm enveloping embrace of a cold melancholy. Another fucking day.


Today I wrote from 12:25 to 12:35. I was prompted by an idea here. My other writings here. All my prompted writing here, and my tweets here