Morning

I've been up for several hours already, thanks to an early morning flight that's taking my significant other across the country as we speak. For the last two weeks I've had an extra person in my house, now I have one less than normal. It's a lonely thought knowing that the dog and I on our own for the next week, but this morning I couldn't help but bask in the quiet of an empty apartment.
Morning has never been my forte, but once I'm up and moving it's one of my favorite places to be. The lovely, slow pace of the sunrise reminds me to stop and gaze out at the long-legged birds stalking the shallow tides of the bay before I'm forced to scurry off to the bus stop. Most of the time the ride into the city is enjoyable in its own peculiar way; I get to be an observer of the hustle in the streets for a short time before having to become a participant. The speedy, tottering walk of women in high heels, the saunter of square-jawed black men in crisp white shirts, the unenthusiastically dutiful shuffle of those charged with keeping the plaza clean; they can all be missed when that hurried feeling kicks in at the first crosswalk counting down the seconds before traffic comes speeding back in your direction, and often doesn't end until after 5pm.

The beauty and the inspiration end as soon as the elevator starts moving toward the top floor of this splendid old building. I read an article the other day that talked about how being pigeonholed in a cubicle drains the life and creative energy out of a person; you're telling me. I don't know if its the lack of mental stimulation, the tedious repetitive tasks, or the coworkers I want to strangle every so often, but there's something about 9am that kills the tranquility of the morning and tends to ruin the rest of my day. But don't worry, I'm already planning my escape. I'll be 25 in March, and I've decided that its time for me to leave the North American continent, at least for a while, in pursuit of a lifestyle that stays inspired from dawn until well after dusk.