Let there be light.
There's something about the morning that always gives it a remedial effect. The last night's tribulations and episodes disappear, and all that's left are swollen eyelids, a sore back, and bits and pieces of conversation supplemented by incomplete images. When morning comes, everything prior seems diluted down to a watery blandness; troubles turn into silly tricks of the imagination and happiness wilts to nothing but a memory. I've always thought of the morning as being bittersweet--sweet that yesterday happened, bitter that it ended, or perhaps the other way around.