I used to never hit snooze. Now I hit it almost every morning, unless there’s a really good song playing. I’m really digging my new station. I like to listen to nearly everything, and they very nearly play everything. Tear in my beer country, pop from the last four decades, Beach Boys and the like, and I guess you could call it Indie Rock for those songs I’m not familiar with.

I pet my dog and rub his warm ears.

I void my bladder and start drinking water.

I do a little virtual farming.

I look at the clock.

I do a little Facebookin’.

I look at the clock and sigh and hop in the shower.

I clean my ears with a q-tip even though everyone says you’re not supposed to and that one did come apart on me that time.

I scrub my face, scrutinizing it for fading freckles, newly arisen blemishes, and the always present forehead wrinkle.

I pick out clothes to match my attitude. Or sometimes, in contrast to my attitude. I pile on the jewelry. I roll my eyes at my fat legs and add cute shoes.

I sigh at my hair.

I drive and bask in the luxury that is Maggie, reflecting on Patsy and her jarring ride. I sing along to some empowering females, most usually Brandy Clark, Pistol Annies, and Cyndi Lauper.

I make coffee.

I type, I file, I chat on the phone.

I Skype.

I eat crackers.

I agonize over what to eat for lunch.

I read.

I take a walk around the neighborhood.

At 4:30, I may close up shop and head to Holston’s, or spin, or a board meeting. Or I may go home.

I greet my dog.

I make supper & eat it while watching Big Bang Theory.

I read.

I farm.

I write.

I pray.

I sleep.