My morning routine is less a routine and more a negotiation with a snooze button that has never once lost. The alarm goes off at 6:30. I agree to it at 6:30, 6:39, 6:48, and finally at 7:02, when panic takes over and I become a very fast, very sweaty man.

Coffee comes first, because nothing good has ever happened before coffee. I stand in the kitchen staring at the machine like it owes me money. Then I do the responsible thing and check my phone, where the world has been busy being on fire without me. I read three headlines, absorb zero of them, and feel informed.

Then comes the shower, where I come up with brilliant ideas, all of which evaporate with the steam. I have won arguments in there that no one will ever hear.

By the time I leave, I look like a functional adult. That is the real trick of mornings: the performance is flawless, the backstage is chaos, and the audience never knows.