My favourite time of day has become mornings. There’s always so much ‘potential’ for the day in the morning. Morning sunlight kisses the day awake. Morning coffee splashes essence upon tongue. Morning thoughts of future evening’s accomplishments dance through my mind.
Mid afternoon is the worst. The hope of morning has faded. The passage of time has become palpable. Hopes from the morning become reality’s metrics in the afternoon. I’m either on track for a great day, or I’m heading off the rails. A mid-afternoon siesta seems to beckon. Have I earned one?
Evening is the truth that comes knocking on the door, and we either say, “Go away, I’m looking for truth.” Or we say, “Come on in and show me who I am.” Evening is the time to either feel great about the day, or the time to write it off, and look forward to the next morning. It’s the ultimate ‘either/or’ proposition in one’s life.
I struggle to string more than two or three good days together at a time. I have days where I just can’t get it in gear. Can’t tear myself away from distractions. Can’t bring myself to simply begin the day. I sometimes feel like an alcoholic trying to stare down a bottle – trying to summon the will power to do the right thing. My bottle is the choice between beginning, or not beginning.
Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday were outstanding days for me this week. I had the greatest hopes for Thursday, but got tripped up. Friday was so so. It’s now noon on a Saturday. I’ve set the goal to complete the rewrite of my TV pilot.
Let’s see how it goes.