Every morning it's the same: roll out of bed and drag myself into the shower. Wash off the night before and clear my mind of whatever dream might be rattling around in my head. Some nights are easier to shrug off than others. Push back the curtains, and just like a kid, rush over to the medicine cabinet. The mirror's still freshly covered with steam. Fresh canvas, but it's always the same. Ever so carefully I make my mark: a face with a big smile, ear to ear. "Today's going to be a good day," I promise myself. It may not be perfect, the smile may be a little crooked, but somehow I like to think it's a better reflection of what I might otherwise see in the mirror. Today's a new day. Today may have it's bumps, it may not be perfect, but there's always tomorrow.