stop. start. stutter.

I'd like to know which one of you in there is responsible for this.

See, I woke up at eight fucking thirty in the goddamn morning. After, mind you, falling asleep at seven, just as Sarah was heading to work. Opened my eyes. WIDE AWAKE, GOOD MORNING, CAMPERS. I ignored it for a few minutes, until the annoyance of the cat sleeping over my legs got to be too bad, and got up. I figured I'd do a little bit of reading and then go back to bed.

Yeah. At 9:30, I found myself out of my house loungewear, into jeans and a tank top with a bra, too, outside (in the sunlight), walking up to Lexington Market, where I obtained breakfast. I walked back from Lexington Market, stopping to express my gratitude to the polite gentleman who expressed his aesthetic appreciation of my posterior (seriously, it's not a trip out on the streets of Baltimore until somebody takes it upon himself to improve my self-esteem; fortunately, it's usually almost always respectful and good-natured and not at all skeevy), and am now pretty much still wide awake.

Two things: A). I'd really like to know which one of you in there is a morning person. I suspect Joey. B). Seriously, is it always that fucking bright out there? Haven't we replaced that big ball of gas with an energy-efficient bulb yet? Someone should get on that.

Oh, and C). I made my word count for the week just in the nick of time last night, and am therefore feeling virtuous.