Arguably, for me at least, the best time to sit down and write is at two in the morning.
At this time my mind is clear, my thoughts are straight and the words seem to flow from the dark depths of my imagination to the bright pixels of the computer screen. It is a phenomenon that I have been studying for quite some time and - as of yet - I have very few answers (or at least few good ones). One of the only possible explanations I’ve found for this clarity of mind is the fact that at two in the morning my mind and my body are drained and functioning at a level which is anything but clear and precise. It is this this lack of clarity that gives me the illusion of making perfect sense while tapping into an unexplored realm of my mind: that place we all visit seconds before falling into a deep sleep, where dream and reality merge into a fuzzy territory of turkeys playing bagpipes and hippos giving lifts to distant islands in the Pacific. So here I am, giving this creative piece my best shot.
In the past, more or less around this time of night (or day, depending on how you look at it), I have written about the drinking habits of dragonflies and how they relate to human’s decision-making, I have written about the paradoxical relation Red Bull has to College as the best years of our lives. At the time of my writing the pieces seemed highly insightful and profound, but in retrospect, I’m sure all of the people I forwarded my nugget of late night knowledge to must have felt estranged and a bit awkward for having been nominated to be eligible to read my literature.
They say hindsight is 20/20 - nonetheless, it is two thirty in the morning, and the juices are flowing, the crankshaft is turning and the motor is working hard. Alas, tragically, I hadn’t expected this to happen, but it appears as if I've been a victim of conditioning. Just the mention of Red Bull has given me a second wind and I am no longer drowsy. I can dimly perceive my muse, who is no longer whispering into my ear that which needs to be written, but is giving me the finger as she floats away into the murky ether of her existence. Bitch.
I’m sure these fluctuations between being fully awake and partially asleep must add a sense of ‘I don’t know what’ to what I write. At least that is what the expectation is. If this proves not to be the case, then all the reader must do to make the pain in the eyes stop, is to stop reading. Either way, if what the reader was looking for was a way of killing time without actually doing anything productive, then you found the ideal activity. I doubt there is anything to be learned by my words other than the fact that perhaps I should allow myself more sleep than I usually do. Ironically enough, I think I use my time rather wisely. I choose to spend my time in activities that are geared towards productivity. Although there is little to be learned by this piece, it is still productive because it has given the reader something to do.
Sleeping, on the other hand, is over-rated. No good ever came out of sleeping.
....I acknowledge the fact that there is such a thing as too much of a good thing, and there is definitely such a thing as too much of a bad thing. So I’ll bring this thing to an end, and an abrupt one at that.
