TKO

Everyday it's a struggle to get up in the morning. Everyday. Every morning I play a game with myself; the one that always leaves me feeling like I've lost, even when the rules tell me I've won.

There's this sneaking suspicion that weighs in like a heavyweight, arms in the air prematurely celebrating a win. It's always there. Always two steps behind me, bobbing and weaving, ready to knock the wind out of me when I least suspect it. It's the uneasy thought that some kind of superior happiness is just beyond my reach.

Maybe if I work harder, or do gooder, or smile more, it will tie itself into a ribbon of gold and fall into my lap. But instead, I sustain on nothing. Gain nothing. Tread air.

This type of suspicion will always leave me a little dissatisfied. Never living in the now.

It's making me older every day.

I hate waking in the morning because that abrasive sound of the alarm always reminds me to be cautious. In between its shrill beeps I can hear it whispering,

"Shhhhh...Megan. That punch in the gut is just around the corner."