Not only am I not pleasant in the morning but I'm also not pleasant when I'm tired. Or when I'm busy. Or sometimes for no reason at all. Sometimes, just leave me alone.Oh my, did that strike a chord!
It reminded me of a couple of other posts I've made, one also on mornings (#81), another on solitude (#88). Because for me, solitude and mornings go together. Even if I have to get up and feed the dog—and now cats, and clean their box—and even if eventually David gets up and greets me with a cheery "Good morning!"
I cultivate the myth that I'm alone. With a vengeance.
Until I can stand being with people, that is. (Dogs and cats I don't mind: they fixate immediately on food and leave me be.)
Able to deal with society? That would be after at least one cup of coffee. And some time reacquainting myself with . . . myself. In silence. It's something I seem to need each day, anymore.
It used to be I'd sit with the newspaper, together with David: the rustling of newsprint, slurping of brew, is companionable, and we could share mild outrage or amusement without actually having to engage.
But those days are gone. Now, the newspaper arrives via a laptop screen—and most days, I can barely stand to look at it. Outrage is no longer mild, and there's very little that's amusing. (In the "news," at any rate.)
In my post #81, I wondered if I could maybe strike up a new morning routine. I haven't managed that yet. But the other morning, while David slurped and keyboard-tapped in the living room, I sat on the bedroom couch and read: and it was just the right distance. Very similar in feeling to the old newspaper rustling. Not as separate as me retreating upstairs, but less needful of responsiveness as me remaining in the living room—and, an extra benefit, it got me away from my laptop.
I'm still looking for routines, comfortable smooth grooves to slide my feet along as I launch myself into a day.
But for the most part, you'd probably better just leave me alone in the morning. If you know what's good for you.