In the Am

It seems that the best time of day to write is the morning, which leaves little time for everything else that falls apart around me when I do something I enjoy. Sadness. 

It's interesting that we do not yet seem to have confirmation of why we need sleep. Because for me there's this highly understandable tendency for the mind to become jumbled in the evening. For me, my mind is like a bunch of books left resting open on my desk or browser tabs open from the day which have not been fully explored. Come evening these are invisible distractions until the moment I attempt to concentrate on writing. Then I am tugged and pulled away from each sentence and my writing is distracted. leftover thoughts or issues or reviewed momements with varying degrees of subtlety and insistence force their way into my mind. If I do get any sort of rhythm, I feel myself quickly exhaused as I cannot stop or risk those ideas shoving their way back into my focus.

If I write during the day, it is forced, and far worse. I try and find a few moments here and there but the most I can do is a few sentences, or maybe editing a paragraph. I need to burrow my concentration down to get anything accomplished. While I can do so and write, it is seldom good. I look back and find it is inconsistent -- like a tunnel that rises and falls in depth and width. In some places my writing during the day is shallow and meaningless, turning up the ground above it in an ugly fashion. What is worse are the other times where my thoughts have delved too deep and plunge into depthless holes, purposelessly complicated as they search for an idea, long forgotten. The result is an absolute chore to read because it is not only taxing, it leaves me dejected that I wasted the time creating an unfollowable narrative that will need to be redone almost entirely.

I choose to write in the morning, although it isn't all daisies and sunshine either. Shaking off dreams and knowing you have other matters to attend to makes it hard to start sometimes. Simple questions can confound me and this is the time of day when I most often suspect that I am a fool, humored by others. But there's a momentum to the morning, too. The thoughts, rise quickly from my mind and are prescient and even interesting. Solutions to apparent dead ends emerge from plain sight and there are potential pathways at the end of every paragraph.

Some mornings the words cannot flow fast enough and my breathing speeds up to keep pace. It is almost as if I am physically taxing myself to try and direct the flood of colors and sounds and smells and ideas that are ready to share from my fingers. It is torturous to know that at some point later that day, this will fade. That I will become fatigued and shuffle away from the computer, content to go handle the mundanities that await me, and sure that I can emulate my success later. It never works, though and I envy those who are able to produce regularly, whenever they need, and shut out the world and create one of their own to match. If only.

Even as I write this (in the morning), I see the same patterns. I cannot help but think there is some chore, some task I am neglecting. Words do not fail me; I fail them as I shamble away, fatigued, forlorn, possibly famished, to go address the rest of life. I hope to be back soon.