Rising

I had a terrible dream last night, one of those that draws your attention during the quiet moments of the day, and you find yourself trying to busy yourself to avoid it.  I dreamt that I couldn’t get out of bed — no, not because I was crushed beneath the weight of my gargantuan Alienware laptop — just because I was depressed.  Lots of unfortunate people suffer from clinical depression and face a struggle to rise each day, but, for all my anxiety troubles, I never have, and the paralysis I felt was creepifying.  Not the half-awake paralysis that results in night terrors; I wasn’t scared, just profoundly heartsick.

And I think I know what struck this scene in my mind.  Weeks ago I set out to write regularly, preferably every day, and that’s worked out like a windshield wiper on a duck’s ass.  I tried writing each morning but that conflicted with exercise (lots of heart disease in my family, so can’t skimp on the working out), so I tried lunchtime but that’s during the middle of work and work is too important to muck up with other stuff, and I tried late at night and found myself too sleepy.  So, here’s another idea.  I write in the morning because this recent experimentation has proven to me that I’m most creative in the morning, but instead of trying to write every morning, I go for the days that I don’t work out.  After all, it ain’t so much the quantity as the quality that I’m ultimately interested in.  

And if you, gentle reader, have any further ideas on what can help me to get my write on, please drop me a line.  Hell, if you exist please drop me a line … the “imagine you actually have an audience” trick don’t work so good no more.