Fuck 9AM

I fucking hate mornings. I know everyone says that, but that makes me hate them even more. At what point did we, as a society, come to the agreement that 9 am is the accepted time for starting a working day, if everyone else fucking hates getting up as much as me? Why do we all keep doing it? All those twee "I Hate Monday Morning!" office posters are a hollow farce of a protest. I sit on the bus each morning seething with hatred at everyone for being complicit in this exercise in complete and utter fucking drudgery. 

My mornings work like this. A harsh, horrid little mechanical bleat drags me from my dreams. The bed is warm and there is a lump, either a cat or a boyfriend, emanating heat and snores from the other side of the bed. I envy them and wish to crawl into their skin with them as they sleep. I've had about an hours rest since the immanency of the 9am start loomed all night, and I couldn't get any sleep because I couldn't stop thinking 'fuck I really need to sleep', and counting the hours I had left before I had to get up. A quick brush of teeth and hair later and my flesh is too pale, too excessive in the mirror. Since I am an emotional cripple it is necessary for me to put several feet of make up, bracelets, various studs and other pointless shit on before I feel able to leave the house, and as a result I am perpetually uncomfortable, bra digging into my back and eyelids heavy with make up. The air outside is actually grey, if that's possible, at best tinged a silvery-blue that is punctuated by the colour of concrete,  and if the word dismal had a colour scheme this would be it. I should have been born somewhere else.

I've seen the film Taxi Driver too many times and think 'whores, skunk pussies, buggers, queens, fairies, dopers, junkies...' as I pass streets on the bus (it goes through Peckham, so the quote fits); there is always, always, a baby screaming and since I live right next to woolwich, at least one lunatic shouting that he is Jesus at the back of the bus. I have a fat arse and multi-coloured hair so if I'm extra lucky I will attract the attention of some seedy cunt or said mad person and spend the hour-and-a-bit long journey trying to politely end all conversation and get them to leave me the fuck alone. There will be a Nigerian lady who got on at woolwich kissing her teeth to no-one in particular at every heave and bump of the road, and school kids that will stare and whisper or ask me if this or that piercing hurt, and is it true that getting your tongue pierced can split your artery and make you bleed to death? 


I know I should have gotten over this by the age of 20, but I can't really get my head around why I have to do stuff that I don't want to do. Why is 80 % of my life to be devoted to school or work when it's shit and not fun? I am particularly annoyed about this in the mornings. I already know the answer to the question - I need to work to earn money to eat and live in general - but on the 53 at 8 am it is the most depressing concept in the world that this is my life, doing stuff that I don't really want to do, until I'm too old, too poor or too weary to do the shit I actually wanted to do anyway. And then the knowledge that I'm a right ungrateful cunt for renouncing the inevitable path of my life in one of the most privileged countries in the world.  At least I'm not starving, at least I'm not a child prostitute in Uganda, at least I don't have to spoon out one of my own eyeballs to feed my starving baby sister because the corpse of our aids ridden mother only had enough meat on her to sustain us for a week in our war torn, rain-deprived home country run by a corrupt totalitarian government.

A quote springs to mind;
"Down with a world in which the guarantee that we will not die of starvation has been purchased by the guarantee that we will die of boredom."

In conclusion, life is shit and please can we just start the day an hour or two later, just to make it a little bit less shit? I bet if the day started at 11 0 clock there would be a 90 % drop in random shoot outs and massacres. Also, I swear I'm not always this angry.