I have always had that phrase in my head, ‘It’s 2 o’clock in the morning and no one cares.’ I don’t see it as depressive these days, but it can get kind of lonely.
I get backwards on a fairly regular basis. It’s annoying. I will get on a good sleep schedule, like 10pm to 6am, or something similar, and something always happens. Something keeps me up one night and then I sleep later and before I know it I’m sleeping from 10am to 6pm. I hate it.
I just don’t know what to do with myself during these times. I should be writing, but the more I think I should the harder it gets to just do it. It’s like I’m waiting for something. Some piece of it to take me and just sweep me off. It happens sometimes, but not very often. It’s wonderful and magical when an idea or just a thought or something you see can grab you by the creative hand and pull you along. I live for those times.
Most times are like this though. Where I struggle to remember what it is I thought I was about calling myself a writer. My pain management therapist told me to write everyday. Just for 5 minutes. No problem, I thought. I can handle 5 minutes. I even have a stopwatch on my phone. I’ve got this.
Except she said to do it with a pad of paper and a pen. That puts a whole new dimension to the task doesn’t it? I can do it, I’ve done it several times. But it doesn’t stick in my head. Even though she gave me a trigger. As soon as you get up, whatever time, have your drink of water and sit down and write for 5 minutes. My ADD brain skips the step and I forget the whole thing. I had a soda today when I woke up, there’s no trigger to that.
My groove got warped today because the little one is sick and she is sleeping on the couch. The couch which is my domain at night. Her mom apologized. No apology needed. I can take the computer to my room and stare at it just as easily as I can from the couch. But because it messed up my whole flow, I had to think more. I got everything all set up and was ready to start staring when I realized I forgot the mouse. I’ve turned off the mousepad on this laptop because it bothers me to no end when my hand glides over it and moves my cursor to random places. So that meant I had to get up and go back into the living room to get the mouse. Then, since I can’t do anything in a normal way, I detoured to the garage to smoke (ick) and mess about on my phone for awhile. I remembered the mouse, but forgot the notebook and pen.
So, here I am, writing to all the imaginary people on the internet instead. I still don’t know what to do with myself in the middle of the night when I’m the only one awake…
Writing me crazy 