Lying in bed, one leg out of the covers one leg in. I hear the pitter patter of rain on my window, I'm going to love today, that is something that I can gather from this small bit of the morning. Its not too warm in this room and not too cold, that specific temperature that makes you feel sleepy and comfortable, a drug to the bodies of worn out people. Should I get up? I need to get up. What should I wear? Why should I care? Oh yeah that's right because our school has a strict no shoulder showing or leg bearing policy. I slowly take my blankets off, slowly because if you just throw off the blankets and get up the sleepy happy feeling will wear off, you have to be gentle in movements. I place one foot on the floor at a time, the floor is the same temperature as the rest of the room, I smile. Now even my feet can continue to feel that sleepy numb feeling. My room has been cleaned, sure I appreciate that but now where is all my stuff? Dresser drawers are dark at 6 in the morning and I won't turn on the light, that would ruin the sleepy morning effect, I grab my jeans that I folded up last night and put on top of the dresser last night. Now for the shirt and all those things that go with the ensemble, I grab a shirt, black, one of my staples when it comes to my wardrobe. It's fitted and feels soft to the skin, there is a cute little monster on the front that says "I only come out at night.". I like this shirt, though I usually wear it when I go to bed because in my mind I can "let him come out at night". Jeans are on and I go to the hallway mirror, that mirror has seen me in it many times. I can remember after going school shopping that I would put on my new clothes and parade around in front of it. I remember that when I was little I took my moms lipstick and put it on then kissed the mirror, a bright red stain on the glass. We cleaned it off, of course, but over the years I have every once in the while did the same thing. I turn around and go into my moms room, all my make up is in there because her mirror is just the right size that it can fit my whole face into its mirror without enlarging or distorting it.  I put on black eyeliner and a bronze colored mascara, but unusually enough the bronze doesn't look bronze on my eyelashes. When I put on my make up in the morning I always notice that my eyes always look superlatively green, they are like glass marbles, not completely one shade of green, flecks of brown and gold here and there. But that will wear off by my first class period while the golden brown will take over and you would need to be looking directly into my eyes before realizing that they are green. The sleepy feeling has worn off now slowly, working from the top of my scalp, making my hair feel tight and weary, down my neck, stiffening it so when I turn my head I feel pain, into my chest and abdomen and finally to my legs and feet. However the very tip of my big toes never wears off, I feel like the feeling just takes a back seat in my toe until I am going to bed at night, wherein it decides to slowly make its way up my legs to my abdomen, through my chest and neck and to my scalp. Good morning everyone, I hope that your mornings are as good as mine has been... so far. :)

WOW....where did these people come from

Mom: is my boy here
Dad: yes the boy is here
Mom: Okay put some clothes on
Gabe: NEVER!
Mom:  Yes this time we are going with clothes....
Me *thinking inwardly*: As opposed to...
Mom: Are you coming with us Hannah?
Me: Yeah I guess...
Me *thinking inwardly*: and i don't need to be told to put clothes on

Me: Hey Rowan does it bother you when I call you Rowan owen?
Rowan: ....No....BUT IT DOES BOTHER ME WHEN YOU CALL ME CRIPS!
Me: I don't call you crips...gabe does >.<

Being made of art

Sprinkles of glitter, gobs of paint, artistic patterns on the arms of those whom I hold dear. Being an artist has brought you here, sawdust is on this floor, and paint on her pants, which she complains of often, and the habitual,  soothing sounds of  Enya in the background. I cannot rightly say that I am as creative a person as the rest of my family, in fact compared to the rest, I have no talent at all. My family is completely surrounded by the works of art that they themselves have created. Whether it is my mom, whom paints and makes little elven people from pine cones or my uncle whose distinctive artwork is found everywhere in this town. Or my aunt the actress and my beloved cousin who wants so badly to be. I wish that I could be as confident and whimsical as I'm sure that they would wish I would be. I can doodle a little drawing but nothing more artistic will you find here a painting of someone or another, but nothing to be held so dear, as a portrait of yourself as a child, which was crafted by your mother. To watch as tattoos find themselves a home on the arms of those you wish you could be like, and the fear of not being able to hold a light to their superiority of adult sight. But who could know the comfort of being me? And to me, that's alright.

What does the day feel like to you?

I have always been acutely aware of how the day feels. The days that I love more than anything are the days that start off with cold warmth, I'm sure everyone has felt it before, when the whole world is just cold enough to make you wear a light jacket but the sun shines through and gives the occasional sweeping warm wind that gives the sweet intoxication of morning. The clouds should be a rosy pink to a light tangerine and the sun should peak through the windows of the house while I drink my morning coffee. The day isn't just something that you describe how its going, today its a mellow dusting of sunlight and chill and hopeful clouds. When my family is all together downstairs making their morning ruckus and I complain about something or other, but its only to offset the Happy Family vibe. I constantly notice small things that most others wouldn't notice like how my brother feels the need to take up the whole couch and then have the audacity to play the "I'm the bird" card. The Bird Card is basically when he acts like mommas  little boy card, not cool.

I take my time to enjoy how the day opens its arms to the world and unveil all its amazing wonders, wonders such as the beautiful beams of yellow happiness that kisses my cheeks as I gaze at the day. The laughter that I feel when I compare my strange morning state to the rest of the world who seem to pass by it and not acknowledge it at all. I hope for the day, and I fear for what may and may not come. I fear that I will not fulfill the day as it was meant to be fulfilled, that I am not worthy of the glorious beauty that is life, and yet here I am, being given the gift of the morning every day. That must be why the flower that only blooms in the morning is called a morning Glory, because of how glorious the day is, so early and new. Good morning, beautiful, time to show us what you've got, because today is the day for it, because today will never come again, however there is always the prospect of tomorrow, and I'm sure its going to be great  :)

- Love always, Hannah

Where's the damn coffee??

No alarm for me, a whisper and a shake
I lay half awake, and think to myself there had better be some coffee
I should know better, after you wake me up you go back to sleep, no coffee for me
I lay half awake, knowing I should get up, but I don't, there is no coffee
You knock on the wall thinking I am not conscious, but I am
I get up, tripping dazedly over my messy crowded room and somehow landing in my jeans
I walk down the stairs and through the still sleeping house
waking it up with the occasional surrogate sunlight of a lamp
In the kitchen is where I stand, looking into this empty cup in my hand
An empty coffee pot is what i see, where in the hell is the coffee?

What motivates anyone to get up in the morning? for me it is coffee and the assurance of learning something from the day.