mornings.

Sometimes getting up makes me feel a bit like I am going to slip into some sort of comatose state.
The very idea of everything I have to do before I even leave the house; Shower, dry, Dry hair, skin routine, style hair, do make up, choose an outfit, throw it bnack, choose another outfit, try not to cry at how disgusting you feel, choose another outfit (the one you wear all the time and the one EVERYONE has seen you in), choose shoes to go with it (one's that actually match and one's the you can a) stand in all day and b) your feet wont freeze in in the icy temperatures of your place of "employ"), see the huge pile of pots from the night before and feel the need to wash them, hang your washing oiut, put a new load of washing in, feed the hamster and the fish making a mental note to clean them out when you get in, open the curtains so day time burglars know that your house is in regular occupation, ignore the pile of bills stacking up on the mail shelf, find a coat that matches your outfit along with a matching umbrella as it is sure as hell going to rain when you're too far to turn back and not near enough to escape the downpour.
Finally you are out of the house. Now you've just got the 30 minutes walk to town to endure, knowing you have no money to buy fruit to eat which is why you've had a bug for three weeks (no vitamins to see it off). You've got Sheffield's quota of workman littering your way shouting a whole array of what their tiny brains consider insults (Noting what colour you are wearing, singing a song related to that colour, calling you a 'sexy ginner' or ,my personal favourite, saying you have 'big hips, good enough to bear their children and asking would you like to?')
It's just not worth it.