The title of this post is a word; a word that I use for Monday mornings.


It’s the state of mind of you when you sit on the toilet and try to work up the willpower to get up and put your socks on.


It’s the feeling of waiting for the bus and detachedly observing your balls wrinkling in the cold, cold morning air.


It’s the feeling, the feeling, when that wrinkling thought crawls across your mind, and you slowly wonder if the morning really is this cold, or if you forgot to put on some pants — and you don’t really care.

Nharr indeed.

That’s the feeling that those other people can’t be awake yet, it is not humanly possible, the world cannot be so cruel, they must be faking, they are the same somnambulant zombies as you, or p-zombies otherwise, and please don’t let them say anything to convince you otherwise.


It’s sympathy for Cthulhu, and the feeling that if you have to actually do something, all the doom-redolent ponderous dreams of Lovecraft will break loose. Morose. And terrible. And rugose. And detached, and stuff. Because you’re fucking dead, not awake.


It’s the vivid, dream-like flash of a world where your work chair could transform, Optimus Prime-like, into a lounging bed with anti-advisor missiles.

It’s the sound you make, it’s the feeling of a Monday morning before the first cup of coffee.



In contrast, the word for the period after three, when the power of coffee has left you, left you empty and burnt up inside… that word is “eeh”.

Which both probably should be places in Zothique or the Dreamlands.

Oh, and the word for the third pit, the one in between? Uccastrog.

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