Well, first, like Joan, I think of how much I wish I weren’t awake, and how much I’d really, really like to roll over and go back to sleep, which has been pretty much a morning constant since I was first made to get up and go off to nursery school. And then, like Candice, I think of the dog, since I, too, have been smooshed over to the side in the night while he lolls comfortably pretty much wherever he likes. I also think of him because he is generally moaning to be taken out, fed, etcetera, and my up-and-at-‘em husband is usually long gone, having left both of us among the sheets. I still, rather pathetically at this late stage, aim to happily hop up, take the dog for a bracing walk, have tea and yogurt and fruit, and read all the papers — all by, say, seven o’clock, in preparation for a private yoga instructor whom I have never actually gotten around to hiring. On the occasions when I actually manage to do this (sans the yoga teacher), I feel so virtuous and energized, I am scary, but apparently that payoff ain’t enough to get me going. But there’s always tomorrow …