Earlier this morning… This is going to be a quickie. Rough and short. So much fun!
What time is it?
I’d hoped for an extra hour of sleep. I was dreaming all night. Crazy dreams about a young man on a bar stool, Disneyland being underwater so we had to swim to rides, on vacation I had the vet put my dog and cat down and I wasn’t sure why or how I would explain it, and I needed my shoes out of the car to go for a walk but my aunt had tied herself up and locked herself in the trunk to get attention.
This is not abnormal. I dream crazy crap just about every night. You could make a movie of a string of them, disjointed and strange. You’d leave the theater trying to puzzle them together. Why? What does it mean? It means nothing at all. It’s just a random string of unconscious thought.
Stumble to my closet, grab my flannel pants (put them on) and my fuzzy warm jacket. Stupid cat scratching at the door. Dog precedes me into the kitchen and paws her bowl. She’s up! It’s breakfast time! Finally!
I’m rubbing my eyes and she’s losing patience. Ok! Sheesh! Fills bowl only to watch her look at it like it’s the worms and lay down beside the bowl.
Coffee. I need coffee. I’ve recently taken to using my travel mug in the morning, even though I’m not traveling. Is that a transgression I can be held accountable for in court? It’s insulated and my coffee stays hot for an hour. I’m a sipper while I read in the morning and I’m always gulping down cold coffee twenty minutes into the book. Not anymore! Consequences be damned!
What time is it now? 5am.
Ugg…I’m hungry. I better eat and THEN write today’s post. I need to leave for my breakfast date at 7am.
Today’s post? You’re writing TODAY’S post TODAY?
Yep. This writing practice is fun. I’ve put the graphic from Writer’s Write for November’s prompts on my background screen, so I see it and remember my plan. Thirty minutes writing on the day’s prompt, edit a few minutes, and then post (even if I hate it).
My point isn’t to write something brilliant every day. I’m only trying to build a new habit of writing without worrying so much about what to write and where it fits in. Too many days, I get to the time of day that I like to write, only to come against a roadblock because I’m worrying if there is any point at all to what I’m writing.
Earlier this morning, I had planned on writing my final thoughts about the book “Rationality” that I finished reading yesterday, but I’m short on time and I’m not sure what I’ll say just yet. If I didn’t have this fun exercise to do, I’d probably skip the post and read a little longer instead. I have an excuse. But not this month, baby!
I opened up a new file, gave it a title of today’s prompt, and started in. And here we are together…humming along, just like we would be if we were chatting over coffee. Me babbling on about nothing in particular and you laughing at what a real weirdo you’re stuck with. Is this love? I think so.
What was I doing? Oh yes, earlier this morning!
I got a bowl of oatmeal, wrote in my journal, made another pot of coffee, and snatched up my laptop, flipping it open as I snuggled down into my spot on the couch again.
What times is it? 6am.
Crap. I’m not going to leave on time if I keep this up. Right. I’ll just play with the prompt for a bit while I finish one more cup of coffee and then hit the showers.
Earlier this morning I’d hoped for at least thirty minutes to write. In the past I’d have skipped the whole months exercise because I know (with all I have planned this month) I’ll never succeed in writing like this EVERY day. I’ll fail, so don’t start.
Not this time! Something is better than nothing and most days are better than none.
That’s all the television, I mean story, there is.
Go back to my first post “NaNoWriMo: But It’s NOT a Novel, It’s…” for more weirdness.