Nothing says work day morning more than night time insomnia, nightmares, and feelings of dread like you are dipped in maple syrup and rolled in bran. Getting out of bed is just an invitation to madness. In the darkness, as you stumble to the bathroom for a refreshing glass of water, there is no respite from the certain premonition of doom. You are doomed. You can see your own failed future as surely as you know installed software will not work. Public transit is an invitation to the diversity culture of ebola, tuberculosis, and bedbugs. Public highways are the Roman arena, but instead of chariots, barbarians, and hot sand, you have cars, third world drivers, and pot holed pavements. Your workplace has the brain fungus infection of political correctness: quota based promotions have displaced ability, hours of work time are replaced with hours of sensitivity brainwashing, and your suspicions that there is a bathroom sex ring hogging the stalls where you used to have a relaxing dump could get you fired if you whispered your mind to human resources. They are many, you are few. You have no refuge, no private moments of decompression in a quiet place. You can trust no one: The merest utterance critical of political correctness can be used by the cockroaches of informant culture to leverage themselves into a human resources management position. If you punch a cop in the face, you will be shot, and no baby momma will name their most recent bastard after you. You are stressed. You are on a crusade for rest from anxiety. I know how you feel. I have felt the same way. I have found that there are like minded, caring people, who want to help. You can find help at the Fenris Badwulf School of Telemarketing Excellence. Come to stress school. Become whole again.