It’s 8:30 in the morning.
I yawn, stir in bed, and dump a pillow on my face to block out the sun. I have to rise and shine, but I don’t want to.
The clock is ticking, and as the sun gets hotter and starts burning my arms and legs, I finally manage to drag myself out of bed. I brush my teeth standing with eyes closed in front of the mirror.
Dark clouds begin to cloak the sun as I sit at the table poking at the egg on my plate like it’s my worst enemy. I have to eat, but I don’t want to.
Thirty minutes later, I’m at my desk. I have to write. But I don’t want to. I want to go out and splash around in the pouring rain, forget who I am and what I’m supposed to be doing.
But work beckons, so I switch on my computer, and open the unfinished draft of an article that I began yesterday. My hands rest on the keyboard. Time flies and I keep staring at the page with 300 words. My vision blurs, and I slump my head down at the desk as angry tears roll down my face.
Why is everything so hard and painful?