Routing Sleep

Each day seems no different. I have to wake up at the crack of dawn, drag myself up and away from the bed, which, like a hot chick with an omniscient brain in skimpy attire, seems to entice me with a lustful glee. Staggering towards the dining room, I untie myself from this engulfing sleep, home to my reveries and my refuge from day to day angst. I have to drown myself on a cup of coffee – black and abrasive, like me, I think and smirk with these thoughts. Running against a supersonic time, I finish my coffee since the throne is waiting for my morning visit. I have to rush everything as my service will drop anytime soon to pick me up. Rushing has these side effects of forgetting important things I have to bring with me. But, I never mind. I don’t want to plan, I believe in spontaneity, in natural-ness of things! But i don't wanna be late either. Yesterday, it was too embarrassing that they have to wait for me, and besides, I hate being late for work – I have to beat the 8:00 am scourge. But come to think of it, time seems to fly too swiftly that I rush things to beat the 8 am deadline, only to rue the slowness of time afterwards. Life’s truly ironic? Or do I just need a couple of sleeps?