The morning sun…

In Essays, Playwriting, The Daily Drool on March 24, 2009 at 8:37 pm

…creeps up behind my slatted blinds and casts its warmth upon my still, sleeping body like a lover I’ve long missed.  But rather than throw my arms around the morning and hop out of bed with a shout, I’m cursing and rolling, and wrestling my blankets up and over my head.  I’ve been up late (again) and I can’t imagine a more inappropriate thing than blue sky and bird song.

Why do I do this to myself?  

Oh, there are the occasional Big Nights Out, where a late, contented, evening was well spent amongst friends and you wake up the next morning hung over but happy.  Then there are the indulgent late nights with Tivo, popcorn, and cuddly cats…  But perhaps best of all are the late nights working on scripts, outlines… dancing like a pixie on the wings of thought… and these nights, oh these nights, they can keep me up well into tomorrow if the dance is going well.  

I try to explain to my “normal” (not tempted by thought-pixies) friends what it’s like… why it is that I can spend the day/night/weekend sequestered in my apartment, held captive by the glow of my Mac and the clackity-clack of her keys.  “It’s like I’m in another world,” I say, “My body rooted and channeling the world my mind is visiting.”  

They look at me kind of funny, but they love me anyway.  

But it’s more than otherworldly.  It’s like, when the writing is going well, I am flooded with bliss.  I am contented!  I am solid in my belief that not only am I following my muse through conflict, resolution, and return… but that this little light is leading me ever onwards towards my dreams – that I am doing what I was made for.  And it’s the highest high, carrying me on past the missed karaoke bashes, or the all-night dance-a-thons, and delivering me to my bed with the deep satisfaction of a cat who’s drunk it’s cream.  

And then the sun comes in, reminding me that my muse shows up when it wants to, keeps hours that it likes, and that when she and I have danced the night quite away, she returns to her mustard seed to sleep and I return to this body – to feed, to water, to rest – before she comes again to lead me into our next great adventure.


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