Because I started a new book yesterday, I was exhausted by eight p.m. last night. I had forgotten how that initial day of writing wipes me out, which is sort of funny, as all I do is sit on my butt like I do every day. But the brain churns harder, cranking out a chapter. I sure didn’t do much differently than any other day.
But loud teens playing football in the street at midnight woke me up. I went back to bed before two a.m., slept well until five. Now I’m awake, sort of. Need a shower, Grape Nuts, tea. Another chapter awaits, maybe that’s why I’m sitting here, contemplating my day before I usually do. Something about writing a new novel, I suppose.
(If only I could stir those sporty, night owl teenagers, oi!)