orning is my favorite time. My window overlooks a schoolyard, and each weekday the children are dropped off, awkwardly slinging their packs and chattering as one chorus. In the morning they haven't yet received the bad grade, or been disappointed by a friend.

And as for me, I haven't yet left obligations unfulfilled, or wasted (too much) time, or failed to vacuum the crumbs in the living room yet again. By afternoon these things begin to become apparent, and as darkness surrounds my apartment and I fix something from the freezer for dinner because I have yet again not done the shopping, it is harder and harder to make amends and easier and easier to leave it for the next morning.

The good news is that there always is one. And I will wake and shower and pour a fresh cup of coffee with renewed optimism, every time. Today will be the day I get all my work done, and tonight I will look around with amazement at all I have accomplished and revel in the luxurious moments of not having to do anything or be anywhere, just enjoy a long stretch of freedom from obligations. Today will be the day. Maybe.