The information I am about to reveal to you might seem painfully obvious, and to many of you who have good common sense, it will be. You see, for most of my life I thought I hated mornings. Every day, I would fight with my alarm, hitting snooze as often as I possibly could. Then, once I had to concede that I could delay it no longer and not be late, I would drag myself out of bed. Mornings meant being grumpy and groggy, needing several cups of coffee to feel human, and loudly proclaiming that being forced to do anything before noon was uncivilized.