(no subject)
I generally enjoy the feeling of waking up in the morning. The first moments of wakefulness are the happiest of my day. In those ephemeral moments, my dreams are still real and I don't realize what waits for me when I readjust myself to reality. As I regain my physical senses, every sensation feels like completely new. The smell of my pillow. The feel of my satin sheets against my skin (in the category of things that I own for my simple, personal, hedonistic pleasure). Most of all, the intoxicating warmth of my blanket, which clings to me like snow on mountain crags. Satisfied to be Mt. Me in pink kitty pajamas, I roll over to face my wall and close my eyes, drifting back into the darkness and fantasy of dreams. Then, at about 300 m/s, all tranquility vanishes as a vulgar, tinny jangle pierces through the morning haze. My fucking phone.