I've been up since 4 am. Almost four hours. I'm clean and dressed and made up, I've scrubbed the shower (including the walls), vacuumed, straightened, organized my sweaters and shirts (including refolding). I cleaned the stove, and cleaned the Brita water pitcher and changed the filter. I have watered the plants. I am considering letting down the hem of the pants to a suit, which I've been meaning to do since I bought the damn thing over a year ago. In fact, I'm going to set up the ironing board right now, since I have some white shirts that need ironing anyway and why not kill two birds with one stone. (I love white shirts. I hate ironing.)

At this point, you are probably asking why, why am I doing these things at such a cursed hour? Am I possessed by the shade of Martha Stewart? Has the lithium worn off? Chronic insomnia? None of the above, although the latter comes closest. I am up, have been up, because my beloved husband (and I keep repeating the 'beloved' bit, like a mantra) had to go in to work early. Waaay early, as in half past five in the fucking am early. Which, for a man who prefers to saunter in around eleven or noon, even if it means working until nine or ten at night, this is a bit of a challenge.

Now, I try to be a good wife. I get up when he does (and often earlier), as much for him as for myself. When I quit my job and retired to go off with him, I swore to myself that I would do so, that I would not become one of those ladies of leisure who sleep until noon and spend the rest of the day lying on the couch stuffing my gob with bon-bons. Because I am an Intelligent, Educated, Highly Motivated, Career Woman and a little thing like lack of career is not going to turn me into Peggy Bundy. Although, to be perfectly honest, I am getting a bit too close to Lady Who Lunches for my own personal comfort. I console myself with the fact that the next place we move may not have anyone for me to lunch WITH, so I should take advantage of my friends while I have them. And since I spent a year being incredibly bored and even more lonely in Germany, this argument carries a lot of weight. But I digress.

So, W is up at four. I draw the line at four, unless I myself am actually going somewhere. I inform W that I will reset my alarm for 6:30. Still virtuous. Not quite insane. W informs me that this is a good idea, that he will be quiet as I should rest, that I've been looking tired lately, that he will be quiet and considerate and kiss be goodbye before he leaves. That he'll hit snooze, and we can cuddle a bit before he gets up, and I'll be back to sleep in no time. Then he starts to berate the cat. Tosses the cat off his chest because she's kneading him with sharp claws and wants to be petted a lot and is purring too loud and don't you know Dilettante needs to sleep? Tosses her, in fact, on to me. For which he apologizes. And he gets up, eventually, and turns on all the lights. Drops something in the kitchen (I still don't know what), and swears loudly. Brings the cat back into the bedroom and tosses her on the bed, as she is whining for food and might wake me up. Opens and shuts more drawers than we own, getting his stuff so he won't wake me up later. Tries, noisily, to shut the door. Berates the door for unspecified reasons. At this point, not only am I thoroughly awake, I realize that I'm gonna stay that way.

I am also of the opinion that W can't stand me sleeping when he is not, even though our positions are reversed an average of five days a week (especially including weekends), and on the other two we get up together. So I get up. And he does not tell me to get back into bed, that he's almost done making noise. So I make the bed, and stumble blearily into the kitchen, picking up detrius as I go.