I got up at 5 am to finish some work. For work. I felt so good at 8:15, when I actually left for work, that I thought to myself, maybe I could get up at 5 am to write on a regular basis.
But by noon I was a disaster. Sleepy, still sick, maybe more so. My sinuses pressing against my face, dulling my thoughts.
I thought, maybe if I wasn’t sick, I could do it — get up that early to write.
In any case, I did not have to get up at 5 to write today, because somehow, despite the fogginess of a cold and my lack of sleep, I managed to write. My story, the one I can’t let go of, keeps getting longer. It’s the longest thing I have written in months, maybe since I finished my thesis in December. It’s 10 pages and growing. I feel good about that, despite the sinuses and everything else. I am obsessing over sentences and plot, things I haven’t done much of in a long time. I am forcing myself through those blank spots that usually make me want to stop.
This is good.