Getting up before the crack of dawn requires some kind of reward, right?

Just so you all know, my first 6 a.m. writing session went exactly as we all expected that it would. Splendiferously, sucktacularly bad. After an hour and a half of staring at the computer screen, I managed to squeak out exactly three sentences of my "novel" and one really grumpy email. To whit:

"This shit sucks. Maybe it's the lack of sleep talking but right now I hate my life. I slept about four hours last night, between Matt's terrible stomach pain (he spent the night on the couch – the second night in a row, I might add) which freaks the cats out, which means another night of howling and running back and forth and scratching in the litter box and howling some more before FINALLY falling asleep the minute I decide to get up. I keep getting up to check on him throughout the night and then I can't fall back asleep. (If he misses work, will we make rent? If we can't make rent, how are we supposed to afford a kid? Do I need to work more than 40 hours a week? Why aren't I booking commercials and making money? Why didn't I go into advertising?) Now I have to get in the shower when all I want to do is to go to sleep. I know that this is what it's like when you have a baby – up all night, no rest – but the fact that I don't have one just makes it seem shittier, like there's no point to the misery. I know that negative thoughts don't get me anywhere and for the most part I manage to stay on the (relatively) sunny side of the street, but this morning I just want to punch a hole in the wall. (Instead I threw a pillow at one of the cats and then immediately started sobbing out of guilt. Seriously, I'm starting to wonder if I should be trying to have a kid if I can't even handle the fucking cats…)"

Methinks it's time to reconsider caffeine.