I am breaking spring and have finally decided, like many others, the morning is the capital time to write:
1. Mind is wire-scrubbed clean or the opposite, LSD-like dreams. (I recently awoke at the foot of the bed, on the floor, wrapped in residue of twisted thoughts/a past nursing school instructor squawking me down/sweaty blankets). Both states of mind are useful.
2. Stomach is empty. A full stomach makes for naps, not crisp writing. Breakfast is bullshit, as we know.
3. 1,3,7-trimethylxanthine nudges the nerve impulses with a knife and goes Kelly Clarkson on your dopamine. 1,3,7-trimethylxanthine is caffeine. Coffee is morning. Like with running or mint-thinning or higher math, caffeine can assist you.
11. Unless you are Marguerite Duras, you are probably not drunk (though possibly hungover, an odd state not always detrimental to writing).
4. Birds cough. Much better chance of seeing coyotes.
4. Due to tidal friction, nutation, and polar motion, the internet doesn’t work well in the early morning hours. This is a good thing.
1. You will have a slight after-burn writing buzz after writing. If things went well, you might even float this buzz into calling your parents or digging a proper hole or encouraging a Canadian, etc.
2. You get “it” done and are done and can now go fishing on the Pilar of your days, satisfied. Like exercise, often better had done than doing (though I’m not in that camp).
4. The blue energy of morning is weird. Good.
6. Less water, less bloat, less gravity. You are beginning the upward arch of awake. There is potential, a finicky but good thing. Later, potential is like the last piece of pizza. The glow congealed. You begin the descending arch into the arms of Morpheus.
7. People might leave you alone. But they might not. Try to make a life where, in the early morning, people will leave you alone. This is difficult. It’s not my life, but it is this week: I am breaking spring.