If I am up in the middle of the night, it seems that I could just get my work done right then and when I get tired, the next day, just go to sleep.
Doesn't that make sense? Who cares if my writing was done at 3AM or 3PM?
That's what I tell myself on those rare occasions when sleep dodges me. Like today.
So I grab my Mac and we snuggle in bed. It's dark outside, the cat is confused and I am filled with good, fully sensible intentions.
Only, darn it, it does not work that way.
My mind, at 3 in the morning, is only sharp enough for a trip down Facebook avenue. I tell myself that any second now, I will be able to flip flop my daily work into this strange, velvety world of dark, silence and peace. I tell myself that for plenty of writers, this is the perfect time.
But not for me.
I am useless at 3am.
And now, I may be useless at noon, too.
No flip flopping, just a strange day ahead.
Oh well.
