Mornings are supposed to be beginnings. Each day, each sunrise, the start of hope anew. And yet in this profession, where the lines between yesterday, today and tomorrow are as blurred as a page soaked by spilt coffee, mornings lose their magic. Many a - changing of the sky's hues are accompanied not by a desire to begin a new day but by weariness and anxiety. How many daybreaks have been spent writing last minute reports or cramming for endorsements or nursing a hangover or squeezing in a few more precious moments of sleep, wishing, wishing hard that morning wouldn't arrive so fast? With yesterday's anxieties unpacified by sleep, and its weariness unrestored by dreams, the soul is numbed to pleasure and seeks only to rest.
Mornings are supposed to be beginnings. And in this profession, where the lines between yesterday, today and tomorrow are as blurred as a page drenched in tears, a line must be redrawn where it has been erased to allow renewed enthusiasm. Something different, to separate the present from the previous. Something to look forward to do, to replace weariness with excitement. Something stable, to allay our fears and relieve us of our anxieties. Something (or someone) to live for, and hope for. :]
But some days actually start right. Sunday mornings after a free saturday are priceless.