some mornings i wake up, and getting out of bed that day takes normal effort.
other mornings i’m unable to keep my eyes closed because my brain spent all night coming up with new ideas, so the second the sun hits my face, my feet are on the ground running.
the mornings where sleep was my friend the night before are the hardest, though. when sleep fogs my brain, eight hours is a fraction of the amount of time it is willing to accept, and those morning are spent fading in and out from sudden noise, and rude awakening attempts, and the moment i decide to give up on sleep, is the moment i give up on the day in its entirety.
i was crying on the back porch when i wrote this, after being woken up for the 4th time that morning by my mother. i’m sure she didn’t understand that prior to that night, i hadn’t slept in almost 4 days... my mania was not her fault, yet i put all the blame on her that morning.