It's 6:04 a.m. I've been up an hour and a half.
And I have no idea why.

I went to bed last night somewhat earlier than usual, but not early enough to justify waking up at 4:22 a.m.completely unable to go back to sleep, as if I had absorbed caffeine through my skin via my pillowcase. I have nowhere to be, nothing to do; the Mini-Humans won't even be waking up for another half an hour, at the earliest.

Nor, particularly, do I have anything on my mind, not even after having read the Very Large Metropolitan Newspaper cover-to-cover for the first time in I-don't-know-how-long.

So, it being a new month and all, I will simply assess where things sit in this little adventure I call life.

I have spent fully two months producing fake newspapers. The first involved re-shuffling our content to see if younger readers would be more interested in a newspaper that takes a hyper-local approach, putting neighborhood stories on page 1 instead of the latest incremental development in the stock market or the Middle East. It made its first appearance in front of focus groups last week. I didn't go, but here's how I'm told it went:

US: Do you subscribe to the paper now?
YOUNG READERS: No.
US: Check this out.
YOUNG READERS: Wow, that's really cool. Like, lots of news about people I know and stuff.
US: Would this make you want to subscribe?
YOUNG READERS: No.

Then:

US: Do you subscribe to the paper now?
OLD READERS: Yeah, we've been subscribing for 50 years. Wouldn't think of leaving my house without reading the Very Large Metropolitan Newspaper cover-to-cover.
US: Take a look at this.
OLD READERS: What the hell? Where's the stock market news? Where's the story about the Middle East? I don't give a shit about some kid taking fifth place in a spelling bee. I'm too old for "trend stories." Give me back my newspaper!

The other fake newspaper goes to press today. It's in Spanish. Lots of fancy color and big pictures and stuff. We're told that appeals to the Spanish-speaking reader. We wouldn't know, ourselves; the team that produced this edition -- my boss, my favorite co-worker and myself -- are the three whitest people you'll ever meet. And none of us speaks more than rudimentary Spanish. We did it with the "help" of a couple of freelance translators, who spent most of their time secretly re-doing each other's work. Further complicating matters is that this will go to a Spanish-speaking focus group eventually, if it gets past its first stop: a presentation to corporate bigwigs. None of them speaks Spanish either. We'll see how this goes over.

I learned last week that I will spend my next two months doing yet another fake newspaper. I'll be working with the sports department. "Because you have a sports background," the Boss says. I certainly speak Sports better than I speak Spanish. This project will affect me in one of two ways: 1/It'll make me realize how much I missed working in Sports and make me want to go back when they let me start doing real newspapers again or 2/It'll drive me out of the business forever.

I hear the rustling of a Mini-Human awakening. Guess it's time to actually start my day.