That’s what time I got up. And before my alarm. I slept like shit. It was raining, I knew I had to get up and my husband couldn’t sleep which means I was watching the clock all night.

So I got up and taught a 6:00am yoga class, which can be totally fun, believe it or not. Until you get home with the fresh donuts and you’re drinking coffee (even though it’s decaf) and you’re on line and you’re watching CNN about the chick who drove into a crowd of people in Vegas and the guy at JFK who somehow snuck onto the tarmac and told the one worker not to tell (not suspicious at all) and you’re staring at the Christmas presents you have to wrap and damn, it’s still raining and the dog won’t go out to potty in the backyard! And when she does, there’s paw prints everywhere and the next thing you know it’s like, 11:30. And you feel kinda done.

Until you have to teach at 7:45. In the meantime the 24-year-old driver of the Vegas car is in jail, which sucks because she had turned her life around once already from being homeless, and the guy at JFK disappears somehow, it rains all day and the dog stays in bed with you, your husband goes to work for three hours and comes back to you talking gibberish because you’ve finally been sleeping and you wrap presents and you wash your hair and you watch Good Will Hunting.

You go teach. You come home. A good Woody Allen movie is on, Manhattan Murder Mystery. And you’re so happy to be back in bed.