Just feeling sort of aimlessly creative at the moment. Really, I want to reach over the side of my bed to get my writing folder out of my bag. But I feel fairly certain that anything as concrete as a piece of blank paper and a pen will shrivel this urge. I can't even bring myself to open Word.
Here, things feel sort of temporary. Well, not quite that, but there's no pressure here to fit into any particular format. It doesn't matter if something is fact, fiction, letter, diary....in fact, most of the time I'm writing this with just my own self and the Beautiful Girl in mind as possible readers.
I just want to write, or to express something. I keep feeling snippets of something forming in the back of my mind. I can't catch onto anything, but there's something there. I'm sort of sad when I think about the fact that it's been years since I last woke up in the night and HAD to write something down. I used to sleep with a pen and paper in my bed just for that reason. These days, if I wake up in the night, I'm usually worrying about work, or remembering some errand that needs doing.
I'm more sensible that I think I'd like to be right now. Really, I'm in a mood to stay up all night, but I won't. I have a long day tomorrow. I need to be up early and have my brain in gear. But, oh how I long for that 4am feeling! It's both wonderful and terrible. It's bleak and lonely, but empowering. I alone would be awake then (or so it would feel), and my mind would be stretched thin: tight like a hair about to snap between fingertips. There is a feeling then of being right at the edge of something. Of pressing up against another way of existing and understanding.
When I was travelling just last year, I stayed up late sometimes reading and writing. It was wonderful. There's no real reason why I couldn't still do it. But I am feeling old, and hating the idea of being tired all tomorrow. Of coming back from work and crashing instead of doing something productive. Is this sensible or sad? My eyes are feeling heavy now, even though my brain is wiry and darting between ideas 'like a puppy loosed from its leash'.