I don’t like a morning. And the morning reciprocates my feelings.
If the government dispensed awards for heroic attempts to get up from a
bed, I would be the full holder of several decorations. And I know, that I
am not alone in my dislike for the morning. Many people meet the
morning of a new day without a blissful smile upon the face. Like brittle
vessel with precious wine, we split from any sharp movement and sound.
For the sake of justice it is necessary to tell, that occasionally, under
pressure of my more cheerful comrades, I try to struggle with myself.
Mornings I go in for sport, I torture my sleepy organism by contrasting
shower bath, I listen to cheerful marches and make a breakfast. I have
passed all these stages.