Morningtime and I have rarely gotten along. We're like relatives who see each other once or twice a year at family gatherings, socialize only long enough to remind ourselves that we truly have nothing in common, and then part ways utterly grateful that we can drop the fake smile that is making our cheeks ache.
Sigh. Perhaps I am overstating. There was that 15 week span in 2000 when I delighted in every Tanzanian sunrise.
But come on, if it takes an Ngorongoro Crater horizon to make me happy at 6am, there really isn't much hope for a Durham, North Carolina morning that starts with step-sliding through a pile of cat barf, right?