Awake and loathing

Awake. I greet the day with a grunt of displeasure. How I loathe the mornings. Hell, I hold just as much spite for beginnings. But I know, like any enlightened mallard, beginnings are the only way to start any event or en devour. So, I swallow the bile in the back of my thought and waddle, bravely, into the day.

Just as it is with all my other days, I rush to get things started on a schedule not of my own that is being monitored by time frames from other perspectives and other people. The lights, the machines, the music. All on, and all hum with their own very special tune.

When the outside world penetrates my defenses, when the world at large has defeated my attempts as secession I bow my head and sigh. I've lost that battle -again.

It seams that only drama is the choice genre. It seams that the woes and weeping are the only things that entertain those that watch over.

I look at what it is that I have in my life and what I must fight for each and every day. My life isn't all that bad for a drake of my stature. I mean, really I've got my health, I've got my looks (for what they are). And I've got enough ducks roaming in my pond. There's the Dame Duck, and old ex-foul I still quack it up with from time to time, then there's the Real Fun Duck, boy she's a hoot from days of yore, And there's Witchy Duck, she spun a web with my own feathers. Then there's Gnomy Duck, she's my fave. There's Busy Duck always doing something on the other side of the pond. Mocha Duck sees right thrue me. Little Duck so desperatly wants to grow up. Malus Duck is living her own personal torment. Soft Duck has the greatest heart anyone will have to joy of meeting. Goombette Duck likes it rough.