I get up between eight in the morning and one in the afternoon. There's no real routine to it, and it doesn’t much matter to be to be honest because I know no matter what time I get up I won't feel human until about six or eight in the evening. Days are a waste of time. It's the night when things really start to happen for me.
Some evenings I might think that because I have no lectures the next day I can use the time to get some writing done. There's no sense in it though, because in reality without something to prompt me to get out of bed and get dressed I'm going to lie there listening to podcasts or watching videos on YouTube. Like I said, days are time to waste.
Around six, as if on cue, I start feeling a little more awake. I have some dinner. I like cooking but I never make anything elaborate since I don't have a girlfriend to impress at the moment and my flatmate is always out. Soon I'll boil the kettle, pour a nice cup of coffee and take it out back for a cigarette which I never smoke all of because I'm restless and keen to get back inside and do things. My mind is busy.
Now I'm ready to write. Well, I think I am. Actually I have about 60 emails (mostly facebook notifications) to get through first, and some of them contain video attachments that I want to watch. I work through my emails one by one while listening to the songs people have posted on groups I'm a part, partly in case there’s anything I might like to hear more of, but mostly to justify the use of time. A slight moment of nihilism permeates when I see that I've reduced my inbox to zero new emails...
...Where was I?
Oh yes. This play. I want to finish it, I just... I think it's got real potential, but actually there is something holding me back. You see there are a lot of big gaps. I have plenty of beginning, a nice amount of end, and too many bits of middle which are roughly in chronological order but resemble nothing approaching the title of narrative... I just don't know that I can piece this jigsaw together, and the thought that I'll do it wrong scares me to death. So I just read what I've got so far and make a couple of tweaks.
It seems like nothing but something inside me is changing... You see now I've got kind of hooked on fixing these little things, and I'm interested in some of that disparate dialogue I was talking about which I've come to. I rearrange it into a semblance of a conversation that could perhaps, potentially, one day, possibly be spoken by someone on a stage somewhere with some kind of credibility. And it links perfectly into the next bit - Hey! That looks pretty good! I'm proud of this!
What else can I fix?
As I go about the business of tidying things up here and there new ideas start popping into my head. They fit really nicely with what I've got so far, in fact, on one level I feel like I'm not quite smart enough to have come up with some of these little gems myself. I didn't realise the characters had the quirks I'm exploiting, but actually if you read it closely, you'll see that they're hinted at all along. They were there the whole time.
I'm enjoying myself now. I really want to make this work! I realise that if I don't like the way something turns out I can always change it, or load a backup. I'm still not sure of myself but I'm just going to let it evolve as though it were out of my hands, because, in a way, it is.
I've got to the point of ecstasy. The new ideas are so pleasing to me. They've surpassed my expectations, taking surprising turns I never could have imagined, that work in so synchronistically that I feel much like the star in a movie with no script, acting simply for my own entertainment. I'm not sure I've ever been quite so happy as when I'm being creative, but my eyes are getting tired. I'm just about ready to go to sleep, so I put the finishing touches on the paragraph I'm on, and shut down the computer. I'm certain I'll jump straight out of bed in a few short hours eager to continue exactly where I left off, so I close down the top, and switch off at the mains.
I fall into the throws of my blankets at 4am, transformed.
I get up between eight in the morning and one in the afternoon. There's no real routine to it, and it doesn’t much matter to be to be honest because I know no matter what time I get up I won't feel human until about six or eight in the evening.
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