Image by author On mornings like these, getting out of bed feels like having an unwanted pregnancy. The previous nights are always the best—before you have to wake up and face life with all that it bears for you. There’s never really any time or space to think about anything else except all the comfort, pleasure, and freedom the night holds. Then, as if by nothing else apart from sheer time travel, it all feels lacking and insufficient. It always feels that way because soon you have to get out of bed and into the life which you mostly don't enjoy, or go do the job you never thought would someday start draining the life out of you, with the people who are somehow always just one word away from pushing you over the ledge. Now, I don't know how it actually feels to get an unwanted pregnancy, but I imagine it must be vaguely similar—in the same way all pain is vaguely similar, or in the same way all people are vaguely similar. That thought reminds me of something from high school. ...