Sometimes in the evening, my brain starts percolating and I have expansive, world-conquering ideas for the following day. I am going to organize, exercise, make firm decisions, shepherd my children with calm fortitude, paint something, clean a lot, and generally emerge as a beacon of strength and git 'er done-ness.
Then I wake up the next morning and all I can do is crawl into a large cup of coffee.
Why? Why does all this resolve, this determination, hit me when there are only 2 hours left in my day? Why doesn't productivity strike at 8 a.m.? Or, heck, 10 a.m.? I could work with 10 a.m.. I could get something done with 10 a.m..
Last night I was bubbling over with plans and ideas and thoughts, today my brain is groping around in a foggy, uncoordinated fashion -- the blind man in the dark room looking for the black cat that isn't there. Out on the edges of my consciousness those late-night thoughts are swirling like some sort of nebula that I can see, but I can't quite pull the details from it -- it's just a pretty swoosh of color and light and little sparkly planet thingies.
Sigh.
Off I go toward my completely half-baked day.
skip to main |
skip to sidebar
No comments:
Post a Comment