Some might think there are no good mornings when it comes to waking up on weekdays. There are, however, good mournings. Slowly rising from your bed and mourning the comfort you’ve just ripped yourself from–the only substitute womb you’ll ever know, stepping out of the shower and mourning the loss of the feeling of scalding hot water against your skin (as it’s the closest you’ve gotten to feeling anything in a while), mourning the complete consumption of your coffee (as it marks the moment you have to leave to get on the train), mourning the seat that just got plucked by another as you approached it, mourning that timing never seems to be on your side as you roll in ten minutes late just in time for your boss to see you slink to your seat where you also daily mourn the loss of any remaining semblance of a “hot” body.
So many things to mourn on your daily outings to the workplace, no matter what nondescript and menial title you might hold. But most of all–the thing one most consistently mourns–is that they’ve stopped truly mourning at all, specifically the loss of their will and according dreams. Grief has become a dull pain slowly faded into a mindless acceptance. And isn’t that the most sorrowful thing of all?