Dawn Fails in Its Evil Intent

Today's nonsensical sunrise.

Dawn failed to meet my dire expectations today.

What a bust it was. There it squatted on the horizon, resplendent in pinks and purples and magentas and mauves and other tones of color I don't know, utterly gorgeous and fine, and it stunk. It stunk out loud. It was a terrible thing, there in the eastern sky. 

It stunk because I thought it stunk.

You might say I hadn't awakened from the 3 a.m. rocket-man blues, when the mind short-circuits in the middle of the depths of night and travels down into inner space and cracks and snaps and sparks like a live wire on the ground and won't let you sleep and won't let you think good and happy thoughts. 

Foul electrified ideas zoom at the speed of light through the brain, and if only space ships could harness that traveling speed down into the mind's depths they could reach the moon or planets in an instant.

Dawn stunk because it was awake and I was grumpy and wasn't.

It still seemed to me that the day waited with evil intentions.

Dawn's pink intrusion.

Luckily, the dog needed to go out and I had a compact camera. Any bigger camera and I probably would have kicked it down the stairs in protest at its weight and its terrible contributions to my raw mood.

I tolerated the tiny camera for the sake of its pitiful existence, trusting it had a soul as other living things do, thinking it might help, so I went outside with it in one hand the the pup's leash in the other.

Was there no end to the 3 a.m. short-circuiting of the brain? I stumbled on the stairs and almost fell.

I walked to the back of the property where the sunrise was beginning its evil decorations of the sky. The cosmic calamity was attacking with painterly careful intent. The sight slashed and tore at me with brush strokes of celestial mastery. It splashed colors across my sparking skunky consciousness. It splashed my mind with hideous brightening wonders and allure.

It made me think the 3 a.m. short-circuiting of wakefulness in the mistrustful dark had permanently damaged me. Where the hell were these thoughts coming from?

If I couldn't appreciate the dawn, would I ever be able to love or eat granola again?

Was all that over? Would breakfast be as bad? Had I gone mad in the middle of the night?

The camera took over for my askew and sleepy brain. 

It was simple to operate, and sometimes simplicity is all that is needed to recover from an oddly profound but silly distress. Clicking the shutter release was fun. It produced interesting results that led to my redemption.

I woke up. Breakfast didn't seem like such a bad idea.

All this was nonsense.

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