I don't know about you, but Daylight Savings Time always messes me up. I set clocks ahead, or back, and end up being dazed and confused for days afterward. This is distressing because my writing is based on a regular schedule.
Writers often rely on routine. I awake early, so you might think an extra hour's sleep would be welcome. Instead, I awake in the middle of the night, confused as to what time it really is. My bedside clock and my phone disagree. Who's right?
Who's write? My routine is to stumble out of bed into my writing chair. I try to scrawl down my thoughts before the day interferes. Days always interfere.
On Daylight Savings morning, I'm already confused when I awake. I sit down to write and find myself growing sleepy. The day stretches on and on, but I'm not inspired. I'm just tired.
Writing is my routine. Like an infant, I suffer without it. Regular hours, or even just regular minutes, will keep me honest. I rely on that time in a way that may not be healthy, but at least it's productive.
All the time I know worse is coming. Some six months later I will be forced to get out of bed at the new 3 a.m. It will feel like 2 a.m. by then. I'll try to write around my yawns. Work is rather unforgiving when it comes to time changes, so writing has to be compromised. It will take days for my body to catch up.
This weekend got away from me. What time is it? I have no idea. All I know is that I was somehow robbed of my time to write.
Writers often rely on routine. I awake early, so you might think an extra hour's sleep would be welcome. Instead, I awake in the middle of the night, confused as to what time it really is. My bedside clock and my phone disagree. Who's right?
Who's write? My routine is to stumble out of bed into my writing chair. I try to scrawl down my thoughts before the day interferes. Days always interfere.
On Daylight Savings morning, I'm already confused when I awake. I sit down to write and find myself growing sleepy. The day stretches on and on, but I'm not inspired. I'm just tired.
Writing is my routine. Like an infant, I suffer without it. Regular hours, or even just regular minutes, will keep me honest. I rely on that time in a way that may not be healthy, but at least it's productive.
All the time I know worse is coming. Some six months later I will be forced to get out of bed at the new 3 a.m. It will feel like 2 a.m. by then. I'll try to write around my yawns. Work is rather unforgiving when it comes to time changes, so writing has to be compromised. It will take days for my body to catch up.
This weekend got away from me. What time is it? I have no idea. All I know is that I was somehow robbed of my time to write.
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