I woke up early today. The best way, naturally, without effort meaning, when I woke, there was little drawing me back to sleep. I suspect I was only able to accomplish this by having napped during the daytime yesterday, although during covid there is very little day time at all. Thinking back to those few moments in bed, an interesting mental dance occurred. The first thing I noticed was that the content of my right ear had be jostling in my head. Deeper than the socket, close to the jaw. It's a sign I need to get a cleaning. Playing with the sensation led be to thinking about when an appointment might be possible. Even now, sitting up on the couch typing this, I imagine that some much more pressing medical procedures are not occurring on account of the virus. The best thing to do is ask, I know that. I find myself thinking about how different mornings are during the pandemic. Previously, at 7:00 AM many early birds would have already long sprung from their holes and would be readying the day. The city, like some 15th century noble has attendants across the land moving around and being productive before it even gets up to shit. The first thing I did before truly getting out of bed was roll onto my right shoulder to kiss Rebecca, slip my left hand around her to squeeze her tit over her shirt and tell her I love her. She always, without fail, responds to me when she's sleeping. This time it's just a murmer to the cadence of 'I love you'. Getting up, there are few sleep cobwebs in my eyes as I pull on the same sweat pants I wore yesterday off the top of the laundry basket. My dog wakes as I open the bedroom door and watches me intensely from his crate as I close it behind me. I do this because I know his very first instinct, after stretching and yawning, will be to storm our bedroom to accost whoever's still resting - usually me. He won't say it but I know deep down he's probably happier when Rebecca's face is the first one he sees in the morning. As I write this he's curled up sleeping on the couch opposite me. Like the congregation that stands to the tune of Here Comes The Sun, blue light starts to fill the sky. Engines rev and the flag that waves outside my window flows gently in the frigid winter air. Of the hundreds of compartmentalized downtown spaces I see from where I sit, there are less than ten with lights on. The cold is starting to seep into the space between my toes as think, mornings have always been so good to me. A time when I can let myself be open to writing, to thinking quielty, being with myself in silence. It's a reminder that I need to take solving the puzzle of sleep more seriously. I'm going to go wake Rebecca now. Moby will jump up as soon as he hears me dislodge the bedroom door.