Friday, October 13, 2006
      ( 2:39 PM ) Rebecca  
My struggle to be a “morning person” continues.

Typical morning in the life of BB: Alarm goes off at 6:45 a.m., awaking me out of deep slumber and peaceful dreams about hearts in paper bags, etc.

Think, I should get out of bed immediately so as not to waste precious writing time, because if I do, I will never get next novel written, and will die unfulfilled and broken.

Lie there anyway. Think, I’ll skip a shower this morning. It will save 20 minutes. But then my hair will look like crap all day. Debate merits of shower. Think, It is pointless to get up and write anyway, I am such a hack. Look at clock. 6:51 a.m. Six minutes of precious writing time waster. Drag self out of bed in predawn dark feeling like regurgitated dog food.

After shower, stand in front of closet staring at clothes that are hanging higgledy-piggledy. See nothing that I want to wear. Want to lie back down. Slowly take one shirt off hanger. Sniff armpits. Put it on. Realize I want to wear other shirt. Look for it. Don’t find it. Dig through laundry hamper. Find it. Sniff armpits. Ugh. Throw back in hamper. Keep original shirt on. Search listlessly for pants to go with it. No, wore those yesterday. No, the butt looks like a diaper. No, no, no. Put on different shirt entirely. Repeat process until suitable non-smelly, non wrinkly outfit is found, doing everything in near-dark because I can’t stand to have overhead lights on, especially in the morning when they reveal far too much.

Sit on floor and blowdry hair because have no energy to do so standing. Once hair is blow-dried start to feel somewhat better. I am sort of cute. Now feel like dog food, only not regurgitated. Once I leave condo and have coffee, will feel better. But only half a cup of coffee so not as good as I used to feel. Grr. Remember, maybe, to make piece of toast. Finally. Leave condo, hair blow dried, makeup applied, outfit on (perhaps inside out), to get my 1 hour and 10 minutes of writing in.

Drink coffee. Write. Feel somewhat better. Maybe.

Go to work. Slave away. Drink a bunch of alcohol in company of cute boys. Forget problems. Force self into bed at 10 pm so as to be able to get 8.5 hours of sleep and get up before 7 a.m. again.

Repeat.
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This blog was the inspiration for my novel. It helped me get through a horrible breakup and kept me entertained for years. But all good things must come to an end. I will recycle oldies but goodies from the archives here, but will blog about about writing here, and about all kinds of other stuff here.

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