Only 2 Days Left
How do you find time to write?
It’s been a huge challenge for me on this trip. HUGE.
Plus, there’s demand for the computer. Last night it was to plan the hop-on-hop-off-San-Diego-walk-San-Diego-learn-about-San-Diego-tour.
So it’s not easy getting time to write.
Being me, I had to come up with a plan.
The trick is, the only thing that I can give up is something I love so very, very dearly.
Being me, I weigh the pros and cons.
- losing sleep allows me to write
- I often wake up earlier than the boys and the Prettiest-girl-in-the-world.
- Lack of sleep will make me even more stupid than I am (as an example, I wrote ‘lake of sleep’ on my first attempt.)
- Lack of sleep leads to grumpiness, though hungry-Joe is still the surest route to that particular state.
- I can’t write in the room without waking someone up
- I am never my best in the morning. I peak at about 2:12 each day. I’m awesome for about 16 minutes, then it’s downhill from there.
But one pro outweighs the cons. I need to write.
So, at 6am, I shuffle out of bed as quietly as the most quiet mouse on the face of the planet.
Of course I wake up the Prettiest-girl-in-the-world. She has mommy hearing.
I whisper to her that I’m going downstairs to write. I think she kinda understands, but for a mom, giving up any sleep, any time must seem like insanity.
Downstairs in the lobby, I find a small table with a plug. I get a coffee. I sit down to write. My bum sinks deep into the chair. Too deep for me to use the table, so I put the laptop on my knees. It’s very warm. Sleepy warm.
My hair is a mess (thanks elevator mirror for showing me that!). I don’t dare go back upstairs, make the key beep in the swiper-thingee, creak the door open, try to prevent it from booming shut, then add get to my hair so I look awesome, no, no, that would surely wake-up the Prettiest-girl-in-the-world and I desperately want her to sleep in a bit.
So, I go into the lobby looking like Wolverine, which is an awesome look on Hugh Jackman, but a spooky-ass, weird look on me. Dishes clatter behind me from the restaurant opening up. Guests squeak by on rubber-soled shoes. I can smell bacon and toast.
The staff gather at a table beside me. All latinos. 5 men. 1 women. All well-dressed from the night shift. They laugh and drink coffee and talk about the teenage choir that kept them all busy last night. Teenagers! the only lady laughs with exasperation. It’s an easy laugh, like something she’s used to doing. She’s not pretty, but all the men sit around her paying attention to her. She has that kind of energy.
Then a choir comes down. Fresh-faced kids. Long dresses. Suits. They gather in knots and practice singing.
It may be one of the loveliest sounds I’ve heard.
I’m reminded what I see and hear when I get up and out of my room.
Yup, this is the perfect spot.
Time to write.