Wake Me Up When It’s All Over

In my acting class this week, we were assigned “Get Up, Get On, Get Out.”

We had to depict, using only physicality and no verbal communication, what our mornings were like from the moment we “get up” from bed to the moment we “get out” the door.

We had fourteen students in our class present tonight — people’s mornings ranged from the usual putting on make-up to feeding the dog to tending the kids to going on a run. Some spent time on their phones. Others buttered toast or made coffee.

I brushed my teeth.

What struck me as remarkable was that not a single one of us was eager to get out the door in the mornings. No one enjoyed waking up to a new day.

What a tired country this is.

The folks in my class come from a whole host of backgrounds. We got students, clinical psychologists, lawyers, musicians, married, single, and so forth. Despite a great diversity in our daily routines, all of us portrayed our mornings as being an exhausting affair.

Granted, I’ve always hated mornings. But that’s never struck me as odd or out of place. Of course I hate mornings, my bed is so comfortable, and dreams are a lot more palatable than reality.  Why should I be excited?

But in watching my classmates present how much they resented getting ready to get out, I found myself wondering: how sad is it that when we wake up in the mornings, it’s not “it’s a new day, what great potential lies in the next sixteen hours?!” but instead, “It’s a new day. Fuck.”

No wonder morning stimulants became a multi-billion dollar industry.

I think it probably goes back to American labor — so many folks in positions that fail to inspire them, all because we’re forced to pay homage to the free market grind.

What’s the point then, if each day we wake up, we aren’t excited to be up? Why has our exhaustion become the norm, and why doesn’t a fact like this doesn’t bother anyone?

Because it should.

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