To be fair, I have written many a blog post in bed while chasing that fickle bitch called sleep. I lay there spinning out endless articulate anecdotes with whit and candour. I am marvellous at 3am. Truly, I should get some form of literary prize (I would tell you which one if I knew any) for the amount of crap that floats around in my head in the wee small hours.
I know when enlightenment comes, I should write it down. Record it so I can actually capture the genius that is my mental 3am blog post. But I never do. This would require moving, putting on glasses, a light and actually writing. Nah, I'll remember it. Again and again I go through this dance.
Genius me - "Write the thing Zoe"
Lazy me - "Nah, this thing is too good to forget"
Genius me - "You thought that last time with the thing about the thing in that place that time"
Lazy me - "But this is different, how can I possibly forget the thing, it's hilarious?"
Seriously it goes on like this for a while.
When the time to actually drag my sorry carcass out of bed, all form of intellectual reason have vanished along with any recollection. My brain has become a sleep deprived pile of mush, and my conversation skills are that of flatulent sea-slug. I've got nothing. Like Keyser Soze (The Usual Suspects, watch it,) it is gone.
|The Devil does exist. She is currently napping in the next room.|
Such is the dark and weird place I now reside, that I have started drawing shit like this.
Don't get me wrong I do some of my best work when I am totally fucked up, but still.....
Like most parents, I try so very hard to engage my daughter in fun and educational games all morning, squeezing in the loading of the washing machine (hey, what fun) or cleaning of the silver (ha, who am I trying to kid, we ain't got no silver up in this crib,) all in an effort to wear her out so that when that magic time of day comes, I am all ready to go.
Chores done and child fed. Nap time rolls around with anticipation and dread. I have approximately an hour and a half (give or take) to knock out something for myself, something that makes me, me. Be it a commission, a blog post, sewing or just having an hour with my book and a cup of tea, it doesn't matter, anything creative and requiring the use of at least some of my brain cells and will stop my head from exploding like a bloated whale on the beach. (Oh come on, we have all seen that clip by now.) The pressure reduces me to a bumbling idiot as I staring blankly at an empty page. Don't even get me started on fucking Pinterest. Time sucking whore that it is.
Finally, today I have something to say. Today, after only an hour of sleep I had inspiration. I wanted to write a blog post about........... Well I'm buggered if I can remember. Something to do with toddlers, sleeping and getting kicked in the tits or head butted in the abdomen. In the end what have I written? A post about trying to write a post. Clever huh? At least I got something down. Be it gibberish or genius (I go with the latter,) at least I got something down. It has taken me the better part of the morning to intermittently write this, pausing to walk the dog, go to the store, and ignore the apocalyptic scene that is my laundry. I have read, re-read this at least ten times. Maybe it makes sense maybe not. Fuck it who cares. I got a new blog post out.