7:00am.

I think about how my life would be different if I could get up at 7:00 every morning. How breakfast would be a relaxing treat instead of a rush. How I'd leave to go to the gym at 4pm and not have work to come home to. How I would be able to take an after dinner-walk before dark, which means actually eating dinner-- gasp-- before dark. So many possibilities.

So much hatred of the alarm clock.

My body doesn't wake up much before 8:45. Ever. Even if I go to bed at 9 the night before. Over the past year, since I made the transition into my home office and rarely have early morning deadlines, I tried a ritual of letting myself wake naturally. No alarm clocks. No buzzers. No deceptively disjointed sleep at the mercy of the snooze. Just sunlight. Just a carefree climb from my subconscious into a new day. Just fluttering eyes. Just minutes spent awake with my eyes still closed, body still tucked tightly under my perfectly warm duvet. But it never happens early enough.

Sometimes-- not too often, but sometimes-- it doesn't even happen in the AM hours.

So I've reached an impasse. I've decided to sacrifice my quiet transition between sleep and wake for beeping hell, at least for a little while until I can get my body used to a new routine. I've decided that I need more day in my days. More consciousness in my life. I'm going to learn what it's like to log into my email in the morning to find no crisis messages waiting there for me. I'm going to rediscover MIT college radio over the web. I'm going to take advantage of my 6am Post delivery.

Because after all, this girl can still dream while she's wide awake and sitting up. This girl can dream over a bowl of coffee and good music. This girl can even dream in the quiet solitude of early morning. Even then.

Especially then.