So I have this memory of my Grandmother, when I used to go stay the night at my grandparents I would wake up early on a Saturday morning to start my day off right watching some cartoons. Low and behold, there my grandmother would sit, in her reading chair with just the lamp on next to her reading away in her latest book in her nightgown. Yes, it's very Cleaver-like, the innocence of small town rural Missouri. She would see I am awake and cook me breakfast, it was AMAZING!!!
I love every minute of my life. I find joy and sorrow bring me to where I am, but why is it once I hit 30 (and I'm only been there 3 months now), I wake up with the sun? My father always barked at me for sleeping in past 9:00 am on a Saturday. "Billy, you've just wasted half your day!" I digress.
What is it about our internal clock that makes the ticker change? What's next? Prostrate exams and mid-night trips to the bathroom?
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