Holy shit it's hard to get up early.
I mean, sure, there are people out there that can roll out of bed, onto their feet and patiently await the sun's return with a smoldering cup of coffee in one hand and a crisp newspaper in the other.
I. Am. Not. One. Of. Them.
When I wake up, instead of possibilities, I see only a thick haze of single minded thought that is pushing me to shut my eyes and fall back to sleep. Just 5 more minutes, it'll be fine, just five more minutes.
So what am I complaining about this time? Well, I want to be able to finish the novel I'm working on, and possibly start another one. I'm sick of ruminating in the shower on ideas that I cannot seem to force myself to execute on. I'm sick of fighting the urge to play video games at night then hating myself for succumbing to it. (The new progression server for EQ) Most of all I'm sick of living with this incomplete monster grabbing my thoughts with it's guilt tipped claws and telling me that if only I could feed it a little more, free it from its chains, shove it thrashing and screaming it into the hole that I've dug for it and stake it to the bottom of the wooden box.
Then I would be free to piece together a new monster.
So I came up with this genius idea to carve out some time in the morning to roll my soul across the keyboard in attempt to generate words. It was an easy decision at the time.
Reality turned out to be a bit more complex. And by complex I mean harder than hell.
I am not a morning person.
Sure, I can pound out some good text in the early hours when my brain hasn't been drained by coding all day. But actually taking the initiative, the discipline, to force myself up is where I'm falling down.
Or I should say fell down.
I know I can't do this. I'm not strong enough. For as much as I want to finish this novel, I also want to stay up until midnight. The morning is not the place for creatures like me. I am not the cheery 50's dad that's up at the crack of dawn in a full suit smiling as the sun crawls up over the horizon.
No, I'm more of the kind that hisses at morning's first light. The kind that curses the dying of the light and its inevitable resurrection. I go to bed late and get up late. I don't know what the hell I'm going to do when my kids go to school but it's going to be rough.
So what's my path forward? I don't really know. I know I cannot get up early and can't seem to get to bed at a decent time. Maybe I should start using lunchtime for writing, or maybe I stop being such a wuss and just suck it up at night. Either way this thing has to get done this year. Hell or high water I'm finishing this blasted novel this year. It's been over 3 years since The Wired Man and I've created and ditched 5 different stories, most of them over 100k worth of work. Not this time motherf**ker. Not this time.
Oh, and if you are able to get up early. I hate you. I hate you so much.