Monday, 8 a.m. Mornings are sacred, for me. Morning routines, sacrosanct. I emerge from round 1 of writing to make a second cup of coffee. Entering the kitchen, I find my partner, Randy.
That alone would set me back—I’m of the firm belief that mornings are best spent in solitude, silence, and existential consternation. But picture this, dear reader: A fu…