The pangs of waking up to bright lights creeping underneath the crack of my door as they light the way to the bathroom for me churn deep in my gut. This morning I will not breathe the stale hotel room air and bend to pick up the newspaper that’s been slipped through the crack of the door at an ungodly hour by a no doubt too-tired hotel worker. It almost all makes me wish I was not home. This morning, there is no newspaper.