The Uninspired Writer

It is either 6 or 7 AM. In any case, it hardly matters. I wake up exhausted and cold (thanks to Winter) regardless. I want to stay in bed all day and sleep, but my husband gets up and makes coffee. He hands me the warm cup and I know I have to persevere.

He works most weekends, which really is a pity, but we make do. In force of habit, I still wake up when he does regardless of my plans for the day. I like to be up in the morning usually. It's just harder on some days. I always say to myself: "It's Saturday anyway. Perhaps I should write and post something today."

That's how my thought process goes, but as to whether I actually motivate myself to get out of bed, go to our office, and sit in front of my laptop with the sun barely visible (thanks again Winter) and peck away at my keyboard is an entirely different story.

For the sake of a good story, let's pretend that I manage to get out of bed this Saturday. It's 5 AM. My husband and I drink our coffee together and talk. It's one of my favorite morning routines. The one habit that generally goes off without fail.

An hour or so later, usually, he's off to work. I kiss him goodbye and wave him off. All five of our cats are usually in the den with me and right at the window--watching intently. The early morning hours are dark, but there's a bit of light off in the horizon and the birds usually are starting to become active from their slumber. I love Saturday mornings the most because the traffic (that is usually so rampant by our house during weekday mornings) is much more calm. I suppose most people, if given the luxury, do prefer to sleep in on their Saturdays. I generally would too if I didn't have a million things to do. That's the trick with me though. I always feel like I have a million things to do. However, don't ask me what those million things are because I'll tell you, I have no idea.

I pet the cats and drink my coffee still. Yes, its contents are basically cold, but it's kind of habit for me to continue to drink it now at this point. My husband drinks his cups so fast while they are still piping hot. I drink mine starting at lukewarm and then it still takes me a solid hour or two to finish one cup. I'm not a very intentional person for lack of a better word. I do things very slowly usually and am seldom ever in a hurry...despite the million things I have to do, right?

I tell myself again: "Today, I will write." But, like the million things I have to do, nothing comes to mind. What on Earth to write about? I have no idea. I have a hundred drafts saved in my Documents folder (that's a bit of an exaggeration, but not much...) and yet, nothing feels good enough. I sit down at our old kitchen table (turned "desk" essentially) with the curtains open, the lamp in the corner of the room on, and my coffee cup still in my hand, but nothing comes to mind.

I flip through some of the drafts I have saved, but those won't do. I read through some of the stories I have already posted on Vocal before hoping for some inspiration in my own writing, but after a few minutes, I am left with only more disappointment. I read through others' writings on Vocal hoping some of their essence will find its way to me and I will suddenly become overwhelmed by some brilliant idea. While I find the stories I read entertaining and engaging, I am hardly ever left inspired. Then, finally, at some point, I tend to go back to my husband's writings and rambles. He's not a frequent writer, but seldom am I. His writing is good, as always, and I read through some of his works while sipping at the cold cup of coffee. I usually have a thing of cookies by my side at this point too, which I have started to munch on.

Fortunately, his writing inspires me to some deal. I decide if nothing else, I'll write blogger-style and just get my morning thoughts onto paper. I open up a new Document, of course. Then I put away the cookies and chug the last bit of my cold coffee. Finally, I start to type something up.

Most of what I type this early isn't really logical. My sentences are not grammatically correct--I mean--they seldom ever are truly, but especially not this early in the morning. My thoughts are scattered and pointless for the most part. However, I am making progress, which makes my brain happy and tricks my brain into thinking we are accomplishing something.

Some time passes then I look down at the clock on my computer. Big mistake. It's 8:30 AM, and even though, I was making very good progress--or at least, what I felt was good progress prior to realizing the amount of time that had slipped by me--I suddenly feel a sense of urgency pushing me to leave my desk.

I rinse my coffee cup and I put it in the sink. I have to get these dishes washed I convince myself. I also just have to start preparing a real breakfast. I am usually quite hungry by this point in the morning anyway. "I'll have to clean up the kitchen and do all these dishes after this. Then there's laundry to be done after all and the floors need to be swept...." There's a million things to do, so my story gets saved and archived with the rest...the rest of the drafts that have never seen the light of day....