When I go for my geriatric morning jog or take my sort of mildly confused not yet awake morning spin class, my brain is in fact NOT playwriting or theorizing or thinking big, morning thoughts. Instead, I am dressing myself for work. It’s a simple task that my mind always goes to. I am sifting through my closet as it vomits sweaters and shoes and picking out what I will wear to work, pant and shoe that correspond with how I feel that day, because in a way, each morning, we wake up an entirely different person, and I paper doll myself through dress or shirt until I find the thing that matches my nature, which is, nine times out of time, optimistic toddler on a boat.