Morning Half Full

I've decided I'm a "morning half empty" person. My landlord is a "morning half full" kind of person. He wakes up every morning thinking "Woo Hoo! I didn't die in my sleep last night! More air to breathe! More fun to have! More wine to drink!"

I, on the other hand, wake up slightly disappointed that I didn't expire the night before. "Bugger," I think, "another day to struggle through. What if I get hit by a bus today? What if I stub my toe? What if I develop an allergy to the colour orange? I love orange."

The worst part of this discrepancy is the singing.

My landlord sings in the morning. I stumble downstairs wary of everything around me and ready to flee back to the duvet at a moment's provocation. He bounces around the kitchen like Tigger on speed.

"Hello! Welcome! Bienvenue! How are you?"

"Fine," I grunt. "Must drink tea. Stand away from the kettle."

He then giggles and skips out of the room singing some obscure Eighties punk band track.

You'd think his cheerfulness would cause me to perk up a bit. It does not. It just makes me even more depressed. Not only do I have to worry about the colour orange, but now I have to worry about the fact I'm a grumpy old man.

Fortunately, my mood dissipates once I get on my bike and I'm usually quite chipper by the time I arrive at work. I think it's the traffic. I find chaos soothing. Or it may just be all the bus exhaust I end up breathing. Whatever. By the time I put my bike away and sit at my desk there is a smile on my lips and glee in my heart.