4:48 a.m.

I'm lying on my side, staring at the window near the corner of my bedroom. I can see the faint glow of early sunrise seeping in, casting subtle illumination against the walls.

I'm not a fan. I wasn't a fan of staring at this window when it was midnight. Or 2 a.m. Or at 3:12.

I've been tired, stressed and dangerously close to tears all week. But I haven't cried - I haven't let myself. I'm instead gritting my teeth or biting my lip until the point comes in which I need a release.

That said, I haven't found myself lying awake in the middle of the night until tonight. Or this morning. Whatever.

It doesn't feel like I'm there quite yet. But I'm awfully close.

9:47 a.m.

And now I'm living the real-life, driver's version of "Paperboy" - and I'm hating my younger self for loving the game as a youth.

Two routes I could take on my daily morning drive. The usual - a turn to the right - is blocked to one lane by power line maintainance. I turn left instead. Another quick left - and the road has been reduced to one lane for the same damn thing. I navigate. I avoid the woman who opened her car door a nanosecond before I passed by. I steer around the bicyclist, around the utility vehicle, stop short when the car ahead decides to suddenly switch lanes AND avoid the UPS truck that has parked in my lane (as well as the large truck approaching in the opposite lane). As I pull into my parking lot - avoiding the truck that is blindly trying to navigate its way out, I notice the my hands have an iron grip on the steering wheel.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow. I just have to get through two more days before I receive my reward - hours of stress relief, through dancing with friends and singing along with Ryan Montbleau.

For the first time in a long time, I feel myself preparing for some serious musical theraphy. My focus is entirely on myself feeling better. I've earned the right to be a little selfish.

In the meantime: keep the eyes focused ahead and get through.