Ring! Ring!
No, it's not the telephone, not a siren; it's worse. The alarm to get up
in the morning. Who knows what makes it so traumatic, but it is.
One summer in high school, I remember every morning was an
existential experience. Sometime the question was where am I, sometimes who am I, but the worst is why I had to wake up in the first
place.
What makes it so hard to get up. Why do we hit the snooze button over and over when we know we will regret it later?
