Yes, I am one of those blasted morning people. I confess I wake up at the ungodly hour of 5:00 a.m. or earlier, usually ready to leap out of bed and embrace a new day. Energy surges through me as my feet hit the floor. I just can’t wait to begin the day. I know, you hate me, unless you are part of the “Morning Club.” We awaken cheerful even before coffee, optimistic, thrilled at the prospect of a new day. We whistle or hum waiting for the coffee to brew while watching to see what kind of sunrise will arrive. Will there be dramatic swirls of pink and purple that morph into golden yellow or will it be the dainty variety of pink and blue worthy of a newborn’s nursery? We ponder what we have to do during the day ahead and wonder how much of it we will accomplish, confident that success lies ahead. And then we dig in. For me, that means I begin to write so I can tap into my natural clock. Ideas abound, words flow, as I click away on the keyboard. I have to be judicious and not allow distractions like social media tap into my energy and suck the creative wind out of me. Often that’s easier said than done. But if I am disciplined, I will do a very quick check of email and social media to see if there are any infernos to douse. Little fires can wait. I don’t turn on the television but I do check the headlines of the Boston Globe and New York Times to see if I should be evacuating. If all is well, I begin to write, while the birds sing, school buses swallow children from corners, and commuters vacate the neighborhood. I enter a world that belongs only to me, where I am safe and in command. By noon, I’m far less brilliant than I was just hours earlier. A dullness has set in, so I move on to other tasks that require less energy. I can edit what I’ve written, but only as a first sweep. I can turn to social media, where people are tolerant of insipidness. I pay bills, start dinner, and go for a walk. By 4:00 p.m., I am the most uninteresting person on the block. By 6:00, I’ve pretty much lost the ability to converse, other than to throw epithets at the newscasters I’ve finally let into my living room. I become lost in the absurdities that surround me. Why can’t Mike shut up about his pillows? Do you have to have the shoulder length “beach waves” look and be under 35 to get a job as a female television reporter? Why would you take a prescription drug that has 37 side effects, including possible loss of vision or life? Then I get really cranky, especially when I witness neighbors walking their dogs without poopy bags and consider starting a neighborhood patrol. I worry about the weather the next day, what that nut in Korea will do next, and if we have enough coffee for the morning. Nothing seems to go right. Everything has become bleak. It’s time for me to go to bed, to recharge my depleted battery and let you night owls take care of the world. I’ve posted a few photos of what you’re missing. Are you a night owl or an early bird? How’s it working for you?