Every morning is like a professional failure report written by my own body, and I am the tired employee receiving it with no power to reject. I open my eyes, but not really, because my eyes are open only in a technical sense. The bed is holding me like it have a legal contract. I know I should leave it. I know society, school, work, family, and maybe even my doctor would prefer me to stand up and behave like a functioning citizen. I am polite about it, even in my head. I say, “Good morning, body, may we please begin operations?” and my body says no, very firmly 😴. It is not simple laziness, although it look like laziness from outside. It feels more like my internal circadian rhythm is running on another time zone, like some broken corporate server still using winter time after the update failed. I feel asleep during almost all the day. My muscles are heavy, my thinking has latency, my face feels badly installed. I drink coffee and it does almost nothing, except make my stomach nervous. I try sunlight, water, breakfast, positive mindset, and other famous wellness procedures, but my brain stays in low-power mode. That is what I tell myself every morning;

By afternoon, I am existing but not winning. I answer messages late, I speak with the energy of a printer that has one percent ink, and I feel embarrassed because people think daytime is the obvious time for life. Objectively, maybe they are correct. The human organism is commonly synchronized by light exposure, melatonin secretion, adenosine build-up, and other sleep-wake mechanisms, according to basic sleep science. I once read a reference from a sleep clinic saying that “delayed sleep phase” can make a person feel alert later than socially expected, and that sentence followed me like a small ghost. It sounded too clinical and also too accurate. During the day I am not dramatic, I am just unavailable inside myself. I can sit in a chair and stare at a wall like it is a strategic meeting. Then evening comes, and something indecent happens. Around the time normal people start preparing for rest, my nervous system suddenly sends a memo: operations are now approved 🚀. My thoughts become cleaner. My mood becomes almost beautiful. I want to clean my room, write my plans, understand philosophy, reorganize my files, maybe become a better person by 2:17 a.m. It is ridiculous, but it is also sincere.

Night gives me energy in a way morning never does. It is quiet, less judgmental, and no one is asking me why I look tired, because everyone is gone from the visible world. Maybe the absence of pressure lowers cognitive arousal in one way and raises creativity in another. Maybe my chronotype is just late. Maybe bad sleep hygiene, revenge bedtime procrastination, blue light exposure, anxiety, and poor routine are all contributing factors. A balanced view must admit it could be biological, psychological, environmental, or just my own poor choices wearing a medical-looking coat. I do not want to blame everything on science, because I also scroll too much and act surprised when my brain becomes a nightclub. Still, it is hard to not feel betrayed. At night I feel like the real me finally arrived, wearing clean shoes and speaking better. But then it is too late to use that person correctly. I lie down and cannot sleep. My body is tired, but my mind is making presentations, arguments, imaginary conversations, future reforms, and small emotional lawsuits. I tell myself, respectfully, tomorrow I will fix it. Then tomorrow morning comes, and I am again under the blanket, defeated but formal, whispering sorry to the alarm clock like it is a disappointed manager.

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