For some of us, though, mornings smell of simmering despair. If you don’t like your life, chances are you don’t like your mornings. Mornings are to an unhappy life what the opening scene is to The Hangover Part III. A taste of the awfulness to come. Mornings are a time of transition, and transitions are never easy. We’re leaving one state of consciousness, sleep, and entering another, wakefulness. To put it in geographic terms, mornings are the border town of consciousness. A Tijuana of the mind. Disorienting, with vague hints of danger.
