SOUR, DOUR, DOWN-IN-THE MOUTH (OR NOT)
For as long as I can remember I have dreaded waking to winter mornings.
Obviously there is a connection in my brain that has sought , selected and agreed upon, which has developed an understanding about lower temps and wrinkled brows.
Still, I prefer rising from my staple cotton, zafu-like mattress at around 5:30 A.M, the norm for my warm-weather wake-up call. My inner light says “get up, Lee Broom” and my inner voice says “leave me alone”, so I sleep another two hours and awaken angrily regretting having made such a bad mistake.
Yesterday I remembered that when my noisy, nocturnally motivated, overhead-condo-neighbor awakens me at 2:30 A.M. hanging pictures or banging drawers and doors I simply rise from my bed and play back my dreams if any were interrupted, then move to my desk where I write,
In the middle of the night I happily research and tap away on my keyboard; perhaps I write about “That Dream”.
And rarely under such circumstances am I sour, dour or down in the mouth; I am happy because I am doing what I most enjoy doing at a time that is not foggy from wintertime over-sleep.