Dawn; I have both cowered away from it and revelled in it. A touch of hypo-mania can make the greyest creep of day into something quite wonderful. Depression can twist an orange-and-gold sunrise and make a monster of it.
I have stepped outside into the first pale rays of sun and breathed in the light. Thirty hours awake and counting and tripped out on the beauty of everything. Jewels of light reflected in a window pane. Dawn sparkling on the river, erasing the exposed bones of supermarket trolleys, blinding my eyes to the bikes and bedsprings that breed in the brown water. Dawn and everything is a marvel and life is a wonderful miracle.
And I have lain watching the same golden light filtering through the blinds and felt flayed by it. Cruel dawn – crawling over everything, stealing the covering dark and dragging the noonday demon in its wake.
The best days for me, in the interests of rational function and thought, are the days when dawn slips past me unnoticed, without wonder or dread, and the day begins when I am ready.