The Default Position

The mornings lately all seem melded, actually somehow regenerating nightly into the same amalgamated mess of bran muffins, bananas and a race for the shower, train and priority seating. Gather strength for the battle of brain-robbery. The suck-out of all will to press on wrapped up in the too-tightly bound pants I swore fit last week. Fluctuations of weight, ego and facial hair. Where is the supposition come from that I'm to do fine? What message does it send to the rest of the mind when the cortex can't keep us standing... Medulla Oblongata makes a stand in the evening hours before dreams end; wake to muffin-tipped tongue.