Dear Universe: If you are trying to tell me something with this non-stop onslaught of penis enlargement spam email, let me assure you that you're wasting you're time.

I'm already signed up.

Hey, here's something interesting: It's not quite as fun to wake up this early when I have to wake up this early. Normally, I'd have a couple hours of "straight loungin' " ahead of me complete with coffee, newspaper, and the usual routine. Instead, I've got to force myself into the shower and slog off to orientation for my new job. Drag. I awoke this morning at 6am to the voice of Midge (at least I think it was her) saying something about it being incredibly early. Amen, sister. I poured myself out of bed and over to my coffee maker, where, in my stupor, I filled the pot halfway with water and then forgot to put the water in the part of the machine that actually brews the coffee. Back to bed, and I awake 45 minutes later to discover that I hadn't accomplished much more than making a half pot of lukewarm water.

Off to a brilliant start.

On this particular morning, the Screenplay of My Life doesn't start with a poppy, upbeat punk song, a montage of happy people commuting to and fro, sweeping helicopter shots of the city, and an image of me sitting up in bed greeting the word with a happy stretch and yawn. Indeed no. Instead, the Screenplay starts this morning with a fade in from black. We see that the point of view is down near the floor, snaking down the hallway outside my apartment as it heads toward my door. Something like a low-toned church bell rings steadily, ominously. The camera snakes it's way inside my place, approaches my bed, gets to my feet and then finally gets right up into my face as I sit up with a start. There would be a quick cut to my blaring alarm clock, and we would see that instead of a time, the clock displays the word 'EARLY.' Cut back to my face, where I roll my eyes, throw the covers back over my head, and lay back down.

Ah, work. Why oh why was I not born into the aristocratic leisure class? That would have been much more my style. I would have been degenerate, yet literary, I swear.

Blurgh. Time to go put on the khakis. If you think I'm whiny about this now, you're lucky you didn't know me when I was 18. My parents were none too happy when they realized their eldest son honestly felt that the world owed him a living.