these little routines i tell myself i'll follow.
trying to fit the square peg of all that i would like to think i can do into the round hole of me, my life and i. i will wake at 530 and exercise. i tell myself this while critiquing people chasing their dreams into a microphone, their shadows illuminated on the backside of my handed down tarnished spoon covered in chocolate chocolate chip. the alarm sounds and i snooze once. twice. three times a lady who used to be much smaller.
i find that i write better in the morning. when i have places to be. because the letters are always greener on the other side of my keyboard. they are disappointed in the stagnancy of asdfspacebarjkl;...or maybe they're perfectly comfortable and my high school typing teacher merely wanted to be betty draper when she grew up.
meanwhile, i will start novels in the middle of the night and forget to write them down because i tell myself my brain will remember the words, etched as they are on my eyelids. this is the same voice that tells me that thin mints eaten in a dark kitchen while all other breathing organisms are sleeping do not count.
i've still got my winter layer on and the first day of spring has sprung.
i blame betty draper and the girl scouts.