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…