I wake up this morning at 6:45 and am incredibly tired. Exceptional tired. Unable-to-pick-my-big-head-of-the-freaking-pillow tired. I roll back over, even though the bus comes at 7:00, and of course, wake up at 7:10 (on my clock, which is about 10 minutes fast). Now I have missed the bus and am going to be late. I decide I’ll take the car, drive to Wellington and take the T. I brush my teeth, throw on a shirt, skirt, and flip flops, and run up the stairs. I get into the kitchen, and happen to glance at the clock on the stove. 6:15. I had, apparently, woken up at 5:45 (which, no wonder I was so tired), and then thought I had turned off my alarm in my sleep, which, I had not, and in reality, was ready almost a full hour earlier than I needed to be. So, I went back down stairs, climbed into bed and reset my alarm for 6:55, because at least now I was all dressed and ready to go. I hate Mondays. Anyway, how about those Red Sox. I’d like to thank the Giants for stopping by, it was...