In the morning, every morning, during the moments I first become aware of the grogginess that has soaked me during the night, I find myself struggling. It's as though I've caught myself in the act of dissolving, frustrated that I've allowed such negligence to continue.
Disoriented, I begin to wonder - Who's there?
At first, nothing seems to help. Stretching only mildly relieves the stiffness that has grown throughout the night, making me feel like I'm helplessly struggling against a spell that has nearly succeeded in turning me to stone. Rolling over isn't satisfying either - I know I'm just putting off the inevitable. Blinking doesn't help - the sky just keeps getting brighter and brighter and brighter, stinging my spirit as well as my eyes.
So every morning I lie there, encased in the haze of sleep, the quickly evaporating pleasures of drowsiness offering meager protection against the looming anxieties of the day. From this perspective - tangled in sheets, collapsed in an exhausted heap - nothing makes sense. Threats loom larger than they've rightfully earned. The normal protective force fields that I'm able to raise around me when I'm awake, sharp, and in full command of my resources can't be invoked - the internal switch that brings such forces to bear has faded into the night, and new armor hasn't yet hardened around me to take its place. I'm helpless, a baby in a crib, wondering if it's time to wail.
But the fact is, I do eventually wake up, every morning. A battle, not too far away, took place, and the night's dark magic was once again defeated, its dull hunger melting away the instant someone decided to be brave enough to try.
But who was that brave soul? Even though I’m now fully awake, I can’t help but continue to wonder…
Who’s there?
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