Mornings
When I wake up in the dark an innate, ancestral rage roars from my bones. It disappears, yes, eventually, and I feel guilty after the roar. I am an adult and should be able to wake up on demand.
This first reaction, a gut one, means that when my alarm went off at 5 this morning I got angry. It's so stupid -- I was angry at the alarm, which is my phone, which despite Siri's responses to my questions doesn't actually have feelings or agency. It must be an evolutionary holdover. Our cave ancestors feared the dark and when they woke up without the sun it was theoretically because of an approaching bear or enemy, maybe an antelope. And so they got angry. And so here we are.
Anyway, at 34 I've learned the trick: hang on until the first light. Fight off the nausea until a hint of dawn breaks through and you're rendered speechless by the possibility of mornings. A whole day lies ahead; a whole life.