It's 5:45 a.m. and I'm nudged out of sleep by the voice of NPR's Renee Montagne, announcing the news of the world. I reluctantly pull the covers off, get out of bed and turn the volume down on the radio, cutting Renee off in mid-sentence. My husband stirs, opens one eye and gives me his "You're crazy" look before burrowing back under the covers like a crab retreating to its shell.