Up. First sip of cold coffee. More than ready for today. Monday. A day which hasn’t scared me in years. Now I look forward. Still. It waking at the hour I want. Practice. A fight. A battle. To see that number on the oven clock and write while in its pose. I’m more than fascinated by people who wake early. And, earlier than 6. I’m smitten, a fan of them. A follower. Admirer. I’m the one in the upper deck and back far seats with binoculars pressed to my eyes. But no more. Was, I should have said.