I hate waking up in the morning.
I hate it.
My brain automatically visits the darkest place, and I stay there for 10 minutes. I think, instinctively, about death. About my death. About the days fading away. About aging. About the decline. About an inevitable nothingness.
Then I take a shower.
Then I greet my kids.
Then I turn on Jackie Wilson.
The rest of the day is usually fantastic. I’m a writer! I live in California! It’s warm and sunny! My neighbors have a grapefruit tree! I’m allowed to take whenever. My children are lovely! My wife is amazing! Hot chocolate! Coffee! Scrambled eggs! The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill!
All great.
Then I go to bed, knowing those 10 minutes await.
