What am I in the morning time? Meatball that got left in the oven too long. I’ve got a piece of onion hanging out my eye and egg yolk on my bum. Or I am a half-digested meat ball that went down the wrong hole, and someone’s thrown me up, and in the light of day I grow a pair of eyes, against my will—and I remember this place—do I? Yes. And I roll around to re-absorb as much gravy as I can, until I can walk.
Then I have my first sip of coffee and the clouds of pasta water start to lift. I am approaching being a human again. Or at least noodle or questioning cupcake. It would take something like yoga to turn me into a fine fresh vegetable. I always wake up AT LEAST 60% carbohydrate. The only thing that speaks to me in the morning are fancy pyrotechnics like lighting the gas stove with a match—or smells. Smells make sense to me in the morning. If you ask me how I am I would be better off to inhale deeply than look inside my brain for the answer. And if I do smell deeply looking for the answer I’ll probably come back with something sensible like: I’m not sure yet—ask me later. In other words, do not ask me how I am in the morning. It is a ridiculous time to ask this question. How did you sleep? It’s better, but it’s still horrible. How should I know? It’s only people who don’t sleep very well who ask this question. They’ve been up for hours because their language hasn’t stopped. Not me. My language goes far away and takes time coming back. It’s a nightmare. I’m pre-lingual in the morning—I find most to any words harsh—so if you’re one of these people that wakes up like a babbling baby (and not actually a babbling baby) I will frown at you, internally. The idea that you might ask me how I am maybe 5 maybe 15 minutes after waking up and I, trying to dodge the question answer, “mmm… fine.”—after hearing—no not even—*feeling myself say that, I’ll scowl at this ugly banner I’ve hoisted above my head for the rest of the morning: “FINE.” Fine? Great. Now I have to stand under it and scowl and look at my enemy like, you made me do that. That’s why I like to quietly read first thing in the morning. It is the best way I know to start the day.
Lucy is very well-versed in the art of sleepy as a purposeful lady of the slow afternoon. She knows well how to handle my morning. I couldn’t say what she does exactly because it’s always the morning. Stephen is also an expert at mornings. Although sometimes he can be too much of an expert if you know what I mean and doesn’t leave the house until afternoon. Lucy will go to the market to collect eggs or bread in the morning even though she lives in Berlin. My mom also has one of the morning secrets: whenever I come down in time for her morning time (which is very early) she’s always in the same position: on the sofa, with a cup of coffee and/or one of the pets. It may sound silly but I need help in the morning time and since I’ve been in Stockholm I’ve been copying her this way. I make a coffee and I sit on the sofa. I bring my book and my notebook (mom will have her computer) and surrounded by softness now, with my legs drawn—slowly we wake. That’s one of the perks of having a sofa. I think they’re supposed to be for entertaining guests in the afternoon or watching TV in the night time but for me the sofa is a cradle for the morning. For other people like my step-dad, (hi Russell) it’s the bath. I know that the bath is Russell’s cradle for the morning. Russell is a writer and he says that’s where he gets a lot of his answers.
Once I was at my dad’s and he had to leave quite early for work so he woke me up and I was quite, quote, “grumpy”—like I “always am in the morning” (?) and this I really dislike. I’m not grumpy—and if only you could see that you’d think twice before hurling huge steel concepts like “grumpy” at me, an unbaked cookie. But anyway this time he really helped by putting something on Youtube on my phone for me to watch as I woke up—a Noel Coward play no less—and then he left and told me to “just relax and keep watching it” so I did. I stayed in bed for 40 minutes and drank coffee and watched a Noel Coward play on Youtube—and I couldn’t believe how good it felt. It was basically a miracle. By the time I actually left the house I was in such good spirits that I was listening to Disse Alguém on repeat in the hopes of learning Portuguese. The morning. The morning is infinitely interesting to me.
Anyway I want to hear about your morning…
What is your morning secret?
tilly