Mornings

I consider myself to be a morning person. There has always been something that thrills me about being awake before most people are, as if everything I experience from that moment is somehow a secret, known only to me. Since moving to DC, I've been sleeping in regularly until about 8 or 9, and this bothers me to no end. Each morning I wake up, around 6 or 7, and without moving my head from my pillow, I look out the window and think, "wait, but why?" Why would I want to get up right now? My bed is warm, outside is cold, getting up means being productive and productive is ew. Productive is hard and adult and anxiety. So I snuggle into my sheets and fall back asleep, only to hate it even more when I actually have to wake up because my day started so late and is therefore ruined. 

Yesterday I had one of those terrible what am I doing with my life and does anything I do have any purpose days. Those days always start out with good intentions, but then my thoughts spiral downwards until I have finally realized that everything is wrong, I have no passion, and I have no marketable skills and will probably die homeless and alone. But then I snapped out of it.

I realized that I've been missing my creative outlets. I haven't been able to paint since I moved and I haven't been writing as much as I would like. So then I went to the local craft store to seek out some canvas and GUYS, it was a miracle. The canvas was 50% off, and then I had a coupon for 15% off my entire purchase! I've never spent so little on canvas before! The Lord loves me. I don't know if anyone understands the magical effect that a blank canvas has on me.

This morning I woke up bright and early, and could hardly contain my excitement for the day to be starting. Within minutes of getting up I had washed my face, brushed my teeth, gotten dressed, and was out the door. I set off on an hour long bus ride to Wal Mart to get sheets to paint on. Guys, it was probably one of the best hours I've spent here in DC. I was thrilled to my toes to be awake early in the morning again. The wind teased at my hair like it was inviting me on an adventure. The bus smelled of coffee and I discovered that the early morning bus people are much more cheerful and friendly than the later in the day bus people. They joked back and forth to each other and I settled blissfully into my book.

I was home again by 9, the time of day when I'm usually getting up.

I had already been on my across-town adventure and back, read half my book, planned out a painting, and written (what I thought) was a rather lovely essay about the rain in my head. It's good to be happy again :)