Eighty-six sheep, eighty-seven sheep, eighty-eight...
Yes, it is 2:30 in the morning and I am here typing away. Why? Well, because I've become a night owl. I don't get it. In college, I was up at 4:15 every day during the week, 5:15 on Saturdays. Sure, back then I had a reason: I was a rower. Practice was at 5 a.m. and I remember how good it felt to finish practice, all the sweat still sticking to your body, at around 7:30-8 a.m. and realize that many people were only just getting up. I had a bumper sticker on the back of my car that read "Crew: we do more before 8 a.m. than most people do all day."
Now I've fallen into that category of people who rise at a normal time and think anything earlier is absurd. Oh. Drat. I say "drat" because I really enjoyed those active, early mornings. I felt that at least if I did nothing else all day, I had been productive. Now I'm still productive, but at other things and definitely at other times. Say, 2:30 a.m. for example.
I was cozy in bed. Hubby snoring away next to me. Cat curled up on my chest (I still don't quite understand why he has to be THAT close). But for whatever reason, that is when my brain kicks into gear. Maybe it's the fact that at all the normal hours of the day I have other things to focus on and am telling my brain what to do, that the only time it has to be free and be itself is when I'm letting go for the day and floating off to dream land. Of course, then it just starts talking away at me, telling me what my next project should be, or "how about this for a new design" and "Shouldn't I be getting a move on with the day?", etc. I think I should invest in a meditation or yoga class. Maybe that'll quiet the little bugger. Yoga is such a great activity anyway (I've at least got the tapes; that's a start).
The nice thing is that there are few interruptions. Every once in a while hubby will poke his head down the stairs and ask, "You all right, sweetie?" I love that he notices, but it partially makes me feel guilty. Didn't mean to wake him. He's the one with the early meetings. But I don't think he actually remembers anything about it in the morning.
So, I continue creating. At whatever time my brain decides to take over.
P.S. Mom, you know that there are a ton of adventures I'd love to take with you. Care to join me for a midnight cup of tea in the moonlight?
Now I've fallen into that category of people who rise at a normal time and think anything earlier is absurd. Oh. Drat. I say "drat" because I really enjoyed those active, early mornings. I felt that at least if I did nothing else all day, I had been productive. Now I'm still productive, but at other things and definitely at other times. Say, 2:30 a.m. for example.
I was cozy in bed. Hubby snoring away next to me. Cat curled up on my chest (I still don't quite understand why he has to be THAT close). But for whatever reason, that is when my brain kicks into gear. Maybe it's the fact that at all the normal hours of the day I have other things to focus on and am telling my brain what to do, that the only time it has to be free and be itself is when I'm letting go for the day and floating off to dream land. Of course, then it just starts talking away at me, telling me what my next project should be, or "how about this for a new design" and "Shouldn't I be getting a move on with the day?", etc. I think I should invest in a meditation or yoga class. Maybe that'll quiet the little bugger. Yoga is such a great activity anyway (I've at least got the tapes; that's a start).
The nice thing is that there are few interruptions. Every once in a while hubby will poke his head down the stairs and ask, "You all right, sweetie?" I love that he notices, but it partially makes me feel guilty. Didn't mean to wake him. He's the one with the early meetings. But I don't think he actually remembers anything about it in the morning.
So, I continue creating. At whatever time my brain decides to take over.
P.S. Mom, you know that there are a ton of adventures I'd love to take with you. Care to join me for a midnight cup of tea in the moonlight?
posted by Kathy at 2:33 AM
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