i hate to see that mornin' sun coming 'round

There is, dear reader, but few sights more disheartening than that of dawn cracking through the window and blinds to cast pale blue stripes across an unfortunate insomniac in the place where he has lain wishing for the first time in his life that he was a Muslim woman of the strictest sects so that he may seek out a homeless person of comparable height and weight, place his burka firmly upon him, direct him to his place of business and very desk with strict orders to appear in a state of working or at least shuffle papers about without a too great a zeal or enthusiasm upon the promise of the finest bottle of hooch money can buy, and then return to the sweet slumber that had just begun to take hold of the ol' eyelids at the very moment the tiny blaring thing with the dancing red numbers began its shrill laughter and that aforementioned sun poked its head over the horizon with all the tact, consideration, and tastefulness of a Tony Danza.

That, sweet peruser of this humble blog o' doom, is the very flavor of morning I find myself savoring just now.