morning head: Friday, 22nd May, 2015

The sun is coming up, a pastel wash like the sea of pink, v-neck t-shirts that discolour the grungy ambience of trendoid pubs everywhere. Unlike the crashing waves of metrosexual fashion-nuggets, however, this is a tranquil backdrop to a quiet and pleasant morning.

For the first awakening in living memory (i.e. the last couple of weeks), I don’t feel like I’ve been run down by a vehicle with too many wheels.

The wee man made it all the way to 4:30am. Fuckin’ luxury innit.

What’s more, he went down for his morning nap in silence, peaceful, and late enough for me to simply sit up and enjoy the sunrise, instead of crawling back to bed to desperately squeeze in as much shut-eye as I can before being dragged back into the fray.

This is the goods.

They say after the initial struggle for breath, drowning is really quite peaceful. Smacks a bit of religion to me: one of those comforting fictions created by people who are scared shitless of dying in the water.

But it makes for an appropriate analogy. The brutally early mornings have been a struggle, but the need for air seems to have passed. This is peaceful. The old (or, rather, young) self will soon be dead.

There is only the middle age. In bed before 9. Up before dawn. I am become run of the fucking mill.

Morning, clichés.