The small hours of the morning and my Beloved and I emerge from the bedroom and stumble into the living room. We leave behind us two sleeping small-folks, their breathing loud from lingering colds.
Finally, finally we can get some work done! Every day - sometimes every hour, we comment on the miracle of the little ones we somehow created - but time-out is precious.
It's been so long since I sat down and wrote. These hours in the middle of the night are the best time, when my head can move into it's own zone without the distraction of little voices. The dark thoughtfully hides reminders of stuff that needs cleaning. For too long we've been too sick to forego sleep, but we're back on track.
In the half-light I curl up on the couch and get typing, My Beloved gets on with computer work. He has a big presentation on meningitis due Monday and is setting stuff up for it. (Procrastinaging...) We share the odd comment: I look up when he goes through old photos we thought were lost, he reads a chapter I've added to my manuscript and an interlude I'm thinking about. Companionable. Time for us. Night time is Our Time. We're not out dancing to Saba and Sisiva till dawn, with flip-flops slipped off and the sea beside us, but right now, this is where we want to be. Poppet makes little snuffling noises and calls for Mama. I leave it a few seconds and she settles, then I go through to check her steady breaths.
And I write. One hour passes. I only notice by the clock on my computer. Two. Three. I don't have a clue where the time went. Maybe into those 3,000 words that seem to have added themselves to my word count? We work.
Night time is our time.
Do you have a time that works best for you, to create, to get stuff done?
Finally, finally we can get some work done! Every day - sometimes every hour, we comment on the miracle of the little ones we somehow created - but time-out is precious.
It's been so long since I sat down and wrote. These hours in the middle of the night are the best time, when my head can move into it's own zone without the distraction of little voices. The dark thoughtfully hides reminders of stuff that needs cleaning. For too long we've been too sick to forego sleep, but we're back on track.
In the half-light I curl up on the couch and get typing, My Beloved gets on with computer work. He has a big presentation on meningitis due Monday and is setting stuff up for it. (Procrastinaging...) We share the odd comment: I look up when he goes through old photos we thought were lost, he reads a chapter I've added to my manuscript and an interlude I'm thinking about. Companionable. Time for us. Night time is Our Time. We're not out dancing to Saba and Sisiva till dawn, with flip-flops slipped off and the sea beside us, but right now, this is where we want to be. Poppet makes little snuffling noises and calls for Mama. I leave it a few seconds and she settles, then I go through to check her steady breaths.
And I write. One hour passes. I only notice by the clock on my computer. Two. Three. I don't have a clue where the time went. Maybe into those 3,000 words that seem to have added themselves to my word count? We work.
Night time is our time.
Do you have a time that works best for you, to create, to get stuff done?
early morning..
ReplyDeleteIt's morning for me aswell. That time before I go to work.
ReplyDelete