For no good reason, I slept right through morning prayer. I am a morning person. I should have gotten out of bed the moment I awakened, as I am used to do, and not waited for sleep to overtake me again. Now, a certain lassitude seems to slow my movements and even my thoughts - this essay, for instance, is the best I could come up with after a full ten minutes of staring at an empty screen. An essay about lassitude.
Lassitude -- as tempting as it might be to think that the word has something to do with cheekiness on the part of young girls, it means sloth. Lasssss-itude, as in molassssses. Slow and not too bright. Well, bright enough, maybe, but lacking the energy to make any use of what God gave me.
And there is so much to do! The hedge! The west edge of the garden! The weeds along the side of the house, only half pulled out! The hemlock tree that has to come down! And inside, it's the same: the bank deposit! The box from Florence, still not unpacked! The box to Florence, which must go out today or tomorrow! The essays about the Second Coming, due in December! It's enough to make a person want to go back to bed.
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Oh! How I Hate to Get Up in the Morning
First Verse:
The other day I chanced to meet a soldier friend of mine,
He'd been in camp for sev'ral weeks and he was looking fine;
His muscles had developed and his cheeks were rosy red,
I asked him how he liked the life, and this is what he said:
First Chorus:
"Oh! how I hate to get up in the morning,
Oh! how I'd love to remain in bed;
For the hardest blow of all, is to hear the bugler call;
You've got to get up, you've got to get up
You've got to get up this morning!
Some day I'm going to murder the bugler,
Some day they're going to find him dead;
I'll amputate his reveille, and step upon it heavily,
And spend the rest of my life in bed."
Second Chorus:
"Oh! how I hate to get up in the morning,
Oh! how I'd love to remain in bed;
For the hardest blow of all, is to hear the bugler call;
You've got to get up, you've got to get up
You've got to get up this morning!
Oh! boy the minute the battle is over,
Oh! boy the minute the foe is dead;
I'll put my uniform away, and move to Philadelphia,
And spend the rest of my life in bed."
Second Verse:
A bugler in the army is the luckiest of men,
He wakes the boys at five and then goes back to bed again;
He doesn't have to blow again until the afternoon,
If ev'ry thing goes well with me I'll be a bugler soon.
First Chorus
Second Chorus
-- Irving Berlin, 1918
You can hear Eddie Cantor sing this song, which Berlin wrote while serving in the First World War, at .http://www.firstworldwar.com/audio/ohhowihatetogetupinthemorning.htm
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