I wake up nearly every day angry. Wow – that sounds really dramatic. I don’t mean that I wake up seething and yelling my head off… well, maybe.. no, it’s never as bad as that! I mean more that I wake up with a nagging sense of things being not quite the way I want them to be. The doors bang too loudly two floors down in the kitchen… surely I shouldn’t be able to hear that from my attic room?! And why is it that some people like talking in the mornings? Before I’ve had a coffee or shower? About stuff that is not immediately relevant? It matters not one jot to me today that the bins have to go out tomorrow morning at 7:30am! Fair enough, if the house was on fire, or the toaster had grown legs and started tap-dancing on the cold, stone-tiled kitchen floor, then we’d have something to talk about. Urgently. But everything else, frankly, can wait.
Thing is, even if none of that stuff happened, I’d still find something to be angry about. The trouble isn’t that there are ‘things out there’ that just aren’t OK – at least, that’s not the biggest problem… for me. Right now. No. The bigger problem is that I am the centre of my universe. First thing in the morning shows this up in particular. I wake up, and all I think about is me. Me, me, me, me. The door-slamming wakes me up, which I don’t appreciate. The talking directed at me is not what I would choose to endure. Everything just feels so wrong – why doesn’t the world, and other people in the world, function the way I want them to?
This is part one of a four – my blog posts are getting a bit too long, but I don’t seem to be able to use fewer words! So you can have them in installments for the next few days! I should also add that I love my housemates – this series is a reflection on me, not on them or their morning habits!