A day not starting

Why is it that getting out of bed in the morning does not necessarily mean that your day has taken off...
It is a beautiful, sunny Sunday morning, sporadically interrupted by bouts of light feathery rain, the likes of which Nashville constantly carries throughout the year.
In my recently bought and furnished condo, I sit behind this screen trying to share my thoughts and words with people I don't know. People who might not be even there. People who probably aren't. It's okay, though. The laptop is listening and that's good enough for me. For now.

Sweet Sunday morning of my life.

In the background plays my kind of music, very rhythmical, very refreshing and yet somewhat nostalgic tunes, imported from Cuba and Africa, and random places in between, islands drifting in the Atlantic, villages forgotten and lost, tribes and people with roots, who live. Who truly live.

Have we forgotten who we are?

Have we any realization of what we have become?

Internet browsing, channel hopping, cell phone babbling, SUV riding, fashion wearing, lie uttering, money worshipping, drug shooting, mass killing, self-destructing creatures of vanity and deceit.
I wonder how all this came about. Is our destiny carved and hardwired in our genes? Can goodness be genetically engineered? Is God a genetically engineered superbeing of goodness, who took control of time and space and just wanted to find out who his parents actually were and how he came to being?

I don't think so. And it doesn't really matter.
Where we're heading is known. Where I'm heading is not.

It's a beautiful alternatively sunny and rainy Sunday morning, and I am tentatively fueling my muscles and bones with anger and frustration, maybe then I will finish what I set myself up for 29 years ago or so.

Maybe who I am will end up being who I desire to be.

Maybe then, Sunday mornings will finally change for the better.