There's a four-thirty in the morning now?

Today, as I lay in bed and contemplated if I really wanted to get up, knowing I was living on an earth where I had to watch the Capitals break their own record for the NHL's longest shootout and then lose in it again, I considered my weekday morning routine.

( It is so ingrained, I have been known to accidentally walk into walls when I sleep in unfamiliar rooms )

I have to shower and take the garbage out and dry my hair before I can go to bed, three things that seem terribly difficult to do for some reason. Surely there are versions of me out there who are doing that efficiently and may already even be in bed, with a clean body, tresses, and conscience. But they didn't write this journal entry.