Morning Hunger

After an hour of just lying in bed, slowly transitioning from the dark world of sleep to the slightly brighter world of the twilight over the river of fatigue, I suddenly propped myself up on my bed. There was a striking sense of hunger that apparently, like the cat that's always up before you, has been waiting for me before I had become conscious of my surroundings. On that river of fatigue I had passed through many thoughts, which sometimes were too similar, or felt too similar, to dreams. Yet, as the river widens into the its delta facing the ocean of reality, of the awake state, that feline pest of hunger started to notice me and started to gnaw and paw at my feet. And now I sat upright, welcome by a world of people already in their cars that were warming up on this winter morning before going to work. And my thoughts from the river journey had all vanished, and in their stead just one thought: hunger and what to do about it. My mind, being stronger and more sober now that the revelry of the jungle of dreams had ended, started going through the inventory of possible food supplies that could vanquish this first journey out to the sea. There's the bagel, the frozen English muffins, and cereal, none of which requires serious cooking, unlike the oatmeal. Was that what I was going eat this morning? Somehow my enthusiasm was still weighed down a little by the inertia from the dark land I'd just left behind. And so be it. Hunger's meowing also was my best hope to get out of bed and start this day like most people were doing. And, oh, yes, I would make myself a chai; something to look forward to even though that would require some cooking.