I have woken up at 3:30 every morning for the past two weeks. Sometimes it was because Margaret was crying. Other times it was due to the fact that my pregnant body cannot go two hours without a visit to the restroom. Most of the time there was no reason at all. Apparently, in my world 3:30 am is the new 7 am. Party. Shockingly, there is very little to do in the hours before sunrise. Vacuuming and dishwashing tend to wake the husband and the Zuzu. We don't have cable, so tv viewing options are, ummm, limited. Even internet celebrity gossip has let me down. I mean, really? All these beautiful people with limited educations and unlimited salaries and the juiciest story right now is the steady disappearance of Kim Kardashian's cellulite? Where is my drama, intrigue, front page headline? I am looking at you, Bradley Cooper. Shame on you for being out-weasled by someone as boring as the Governator. Honestly, what is a girl to do?
Writers across the world preach the gospel of early morning inspiration. Apparently, the muses are more active when reasonable people are asleep. Perhaps I will try to channel one of those Greek ladies and write that book I have been talking about since the second grade. Something lovely and important and new. Tangible work that my children can hold when I am gone. A paperbound world that will earn me accolades, royalties and a guest spot on any number of morning tv shows.
Or maybe I will just watch season two of Psych. Again.