On waking, I reach for my blackberry. It tells me what city I'm in; the hotel rooms offer no clues. Every Courtyard by Marriott is interchangeable. Many doors into the same house. From the size of my suitcase, I can recall the length of my stay: one or two days, the small bag. Three or four, the large. Two bags means more than a week.
CNBC, shower, coffee, email. Quick breakfast, $10.95 (except in California, where it's $12.95. Another clue.)
Getting there is the worst part. Flying is an endless accumulation of indignities. Airlines learned their human factors from hospitals. I've adapted my routine to minimize hassles.
Park in the same level of the same ramp. Check in at the less-used kiosks in the transit level. Check my bag so I don't have to fuck around with the overhead bins. I'd rather dawdle at the carousel than drag the thing around the terminal anyway.
http://www.michaelnygard.com/blog/2008/03/steve_jobs_made_me_miss_my_fli.html