Wake up. Look at the clock. Yawn, stretch. Don’t think about anything but pulling the covers back over my head. Close eyes. Open them again. Hmm. Maybe. Peek outside. See the sun. Open the blackout curtains. Sing a song to myself Make coffee. Go back to bed with coffee. Wake up gently.
Then it doesn’t really matter where the day goes after that.
There are infinite variations to the perfect way to wake up. Waking up with the sound of water. Rain on a tin roof. Waves. Water streaming over rocks. Sometimes a book makes its way in. Or music. Maybe a breakfast after. The sound of laughter from an earlier riser.
The best ones involve waking up with someone else. A lover, a group of friends.
Any time you start the day with sunshine and coffee in bed, it is perfect.
As the entire Western world knows, Facebook loves to remind us of our pasts.
In my case, that includes not only all of the lovely pictures and funny things that I post (remember the vagina beauty contest and the vampire dildo? Fun times…) but also blog posts from that date in history.
Usually I just ignore them, because, well, I wrote them and don’t need to read them again. Lately I’ve been reading them. And they sound JUST LIKE ME. Is that a good thing or a bad thing that I write so completely in my own voice? I can hear the people on both sides of the imaginary conversations so clearly.
But it made me think about why I stopped…
Why did I?
I really don’t know.
It’s not like the imaginary conversations have gone away.
It’s not like I am not bleeding internally for the lack of a creative outlet.
It’s not like I am still weird and struggling like we all are.
So why not start. Maybe not with the self inflicted pressure of daily writing (you mean discipline?) but just now and then. When I need it.