I stumble from the bed and stub my toe on the door. I shed my night clothes and leave them laying about the floor. I turn on the shower and the water is deathly cold. I shiver as I try to wash a way the haze. I limp out a naked mess, trying to open my eyes, still dripping from my icy baptism. I find a semi-clean towel and dry off as best as I can. I look for my house slippers and stumble into the kitchen. I sit down and compose myself, because I hate rising before dawn. I look over at the coffee *** and pray that it is on. Much to my dismay, it hasn't started yet. I see through blurry eyes what the time truly is. I am in disgust with myself for not checking my alarm. The coffee *** says 4 am and that does me great harm. For you see I am now frustrated and barley alive, because my coffee *** is set for when I have to get up and that is just a quarter past 5.