Have a nice (Lady) Day

I must be (in)famous for my difficulty to wake up in the morning. That is a lie. Or at least only a half one. Alike Marilyn Monroe (or was it some other star?), who once said that she wouldn't get out of bed for less than a thousand dollars (or was it more), I find it very difficult to get out of mine when I know that it is a thousand DNA sequences that await for me. On the other hand, I have never had trouble waking up to catch a boat to the islands, a bus that will take me to some nice place up on the Pyrenees or in general to any sort of activity that a normal person cannot but anticipate.

Today being a Thursday, like many others and many more to come, I found it a bit hard to force my body out from beneath the sheets. And as I found myself strolling down Carrer de la Merce on the way to the lab, I sensed I needed the sort of soothing music that would bring my mind in a tranquil and at the same time functional status. I chose Billie Holiday.

As the first notes of "In my solitude" started streaming through my headphones and my mood was slowly going back from frustrated to normal, I realized that I was passing by a number of bars that I have only seen full during the evening. Still, it was 9.30 and most of them had at least a couple of groups of customers who chatted while having their morning coffee, or having a light breakfast while reading the morning paper. I felt an indescribable envy. Right there and then I had just realized what would get me out of bed almost every morning and that was the promise that I could have the chance of starting my day, every day, in such a relaxing way. Walking in a bar, ask for a cup of coffee, a tostada or a scone, sit at a quiet table at the back and unfold my newspaper, or my book, or whatever it were that I might be reading. Now lets imagine that at the back of this coffee-shop there is a wide window facing the beach of Barceloneta, the sun is only starting to shine and Billie Holiday is discretely singing through the bar's speakers "God bless the child".

I could not help of thinking about other places and other times, where other people -more inspired than I am- were lucky enough to consider this dream of mine their daily routine. I thought about Joyce strolling down the south bank of the Seine, Freud walking into some Viennese cafe asking for a fresh croissant, Pessoa meeting with his friends in "A brasileira". And then I went on my walk to the lab, with the useless consolation thought that probably none of them was so happy about their mornings.

And that they all lived before having the chance to listen to Lady Day comforting them in the playful way she was doing it for me.

"Good morning heartache"...