USER: Tell me about this piece:Waking up in the morning is always interesting. It reminds me of when I'm playing hide-and-seek--I'm hidden crouching in the pitch-dark closet and suddenly someone throws open the sliding door, sunlight pouring in as they shout, "Found you!"--that dazzling glare followed by an awkward pause, and then, my heart pounding as I adjust the front of my shirt and emerge from the closet, I'm slightly self-conscious and then suddenly irritated and annoyed--it feels similar, but no, not quite like that, somehow even more unbearable. Sort of like opening a box, only to find another box inside, so you open that smaller box and again there's another box inside, and you open it, and one after another there are smaller boxes inside each other, so you keep opening them, seven or eight of them, until finally what's left is a tiny box the size of a small die, so you gently pry it open to find... nothing, it's empty--more like that feeling. Anyway, it's a lie when they say your eyes just blink awake. Bleary and cloudy, then as the starch gradually settles to the bottom and the skim rises to the top, at last my eyes wearily open. Mornings seem forced to me. So much sadness rises up, I can't bear it. I hate it, I really do. I'm an awful sight in the morning. My legs feel so exhausted that, already, I don't want to do a thing. I wonder if it's because I don't sleep well. It's a lie when they say you feel healthy in the morning. Mornings are gray. Always the same. Absolutel...