My body is programmed to pee at five o’clock. This is not a problem on weekdays, because that’s when I get up, put the water on for the coffee, and take a long, hot shower. On weekends, though, I would prefer to stay in bed a little longer. Say, at least until the sun comes up. But, whether I wanted to or not, I woke up at five every this morning and had to weigh the options: Cross my legs so I could stay in my nice, warm bed a little longer? Or skitter across the ice-cold floor to pee and scuttle back to bed?

If I cross my legs, I can remain curled up in the quilts for about a half-hour, tops. If I manage to exercise a little self-control the night before and don’t have to offload a lot of fluid early the next morning, suffering a full bladder is worth it just to stay warm and comfy, but sometimes I know right away that I’m just going to lie there for a half-hour, wide awake, thinking about peeing hard enough to knock over a cow, and no amount of warm comfy cancels that out.

In the summer months I can do my business, crawl back in bed and expect to get a little more shut-eye. In the winter, though, Our Humble O’Bode gets chilly enough at night that stumbling to the bathroom and back is like stepping into a beer cooler. I like beer a lot, but even I don’t spend much time in beer coolers unless I have to, or I’ve been drinking. Usually only when I’ve been drinking, which renders my fragile self numb to the cold. When I have to break out of my comfy quilted cocoon, though, getting hit with that blast of frigid air is a guaranteed wake-up.

I tried to go back to sleep this morning, but gave up after about a half-hour of lying there, thinking about changes I would have to make to application forms when I got back to work on Monday. Kids, this is what you have to look forward to. When I was your age and drowsed my way through the morning, my mind occupied itself by imagining the seminaked body parts of lovely maidens, but now all it does is plan for the next day at the office. I’m not sure what that means, unless I was originally meant to be a sculptor or painter, or maybe I was supposed to be a pornographer. Whatever, I’m an office drone now. My brain’s been programmed as thoroughly and effectively as my bladder.