The Bologna Blog

Writing

A productive night of writing makes for a tired and nonenergized morning. I often wonder if there are others that write their best during the wee morning hours while the rest of the house is quiet. There is something about listening to the snores of loved ones that set the jaws of my imagination to drooling. It is either that or I would probably plot their murder in my mind for keeping me awake. So I rise and adjourn to my computer to pound away the keys as a way to release frustration. I continue until I hear my husband's cell phone alarm sound. It plays, at full volume, the full chorus of American Pie, filling me with a desire to chuck the phone in the toilet. This is an everyday occurrence at o'fivehundred. I swallow hard to quench the desire and climb back into bed pushing his butt out of the other side. I wait snuggled in my blankets for him to finish his morning routines and then I rise for the day. Depending on whether I work that night, I will remain vertical through the sunshining or drearyfied, as of late, daytime hours. There is a life to be lived, or at least errands to run and a house to clean. Between loads of laundry and dishes washed, I try to sneak in a bit of time for writing. It is a strange life by most standards, but I wouldn't change a thing.