Mornings.

Mornings are my least favorite time of the day. Literally. The moment I sit up and the covers fall off my body, that moment (hopefully and usually) is THE lowest point. I groan and mutter something about how I hate mornings, and Diana says something sweet and reassuring. I actually gain sentient consciousness sometime during my drive to work, and from then on, I'm golden. But man, that first five minutes of uprightness kills me.

Diana and I have talked about watching every Oscar winner for Best Picture since the beginning. We haven't actually made a good effort to do so, and I think that if we're going to do it, we should really do it right and do it in chronological order. That would be starting from "Wings" in 1927, I guess. Anyways, we borrowed "To Kill a Mockingbird" last night from her parents, and watched most of that. Good movie. In fact, up until this very moment, I thought someone told me it was a Best Picture winner, but indeed it was not. In 1963, the winner was "Tom Jones". Oh well. There goes my whole paragraph structure.