Hello, Sunshine

I am dating that guy. You know the type. Perhaps you are the type. The type who rises early. A little too early, if you ask me. That's right ladies and gents, my boyfriend is the Early-to-bed, Early-to-rise type. Except, the Englishman takes it to a whole new level. Living in sin is very nice. No marriage b.s. to worry about, no stress, no kids in my hair but coming together in the Cosmo sense of the phrase is more or less dealing with THE AWAKENING HOUR. I, like many unemployed Americans, like to sleep in until a modest 10, 10:30 (who am I kidding, it's more like 11). There I am, my eyes adjusting to the beautiful morning light coming through my blinds. I turn over and nope, no Englishman to be seen. At first I wonder if these previous few years have been nothing but a dream. But, then I see the remnants of the Englishman's tracks. He's moved things around....he's been in the storage space....on the internet....here...there....everywhere!!!! I roll out of bed and there I see him---awake and sunshiny. Although his bright green eyes are lovely to see first thing in the morning, the inane chattering of a busy body unfortunately is not. You see, I am not trying to hurt anyone's feelings, I just am a sleep person. Not an awake person. Never have been. Plus, when I get up, I need at least an hour to adjust to the light, much like a bat or a vampire who has been in his crypt for hundreds of years. I need some time, senor. I wake up to:
"Hey Erica. How are you?"----the Englishman speaketh.
"Hey."---me
"How are you, whatcha doing?"---Englishman
"Fine...what have you been doing?"---me
"Oh, I went for a 6 mile walk and I read three newspapers, checked my email, got some coffee, finished two crossword puzzles, boy were they hard, and then I took a shower after I ate some breakfast."---Englishman.
"What??!?!?!?!?!? I just set foot on a floor."---me
"Yeah I know."---Englishman.
At first I blamed him. He's the best at everything. Everything. Then, I realized. THERE ARE MORE LIKE HIM OUT THERE. More people who get up, on weekends like he does, at the crack of dawn (8 o'clock) and roam around the street with their baby children and their papers and freshly poured caffeinated beverages (although I am sure they only get those flavor-infused delicacies so they can 1) bond with the same species, other 8 a.m.ers. 2) do something with all of the time they have and 3) make sure they don't look weird for being up so early---they need to have an excuse as to why they're functioning at an alien hour.

Hot Child in the City

Discrepancies in the Chi-town persona are numerous.
For one, the "Windy City" is not very windy. It's very hot and thick in the town and I find myself begging for a slight breeze to ease the heat. Very hot and yet no breeze.
What to do? No se.
We (me and the Englishman) live on the top floor of a building constructed in the eighteen twenties, I'm sure, and the main problem is it's cool at nights here, yet, it's hot as Hades inside. I mean, I've probably lost 5 pounds in mere sweat alone. Ridiculous.