Priorities, and How They Eat Dreams

5:30 a.m.


It’s so cold outside, and the bed is so warm. I think I hear rain on the roof. I could go deeper into the covers and forget about everything. Let me expose my hand and see how the air feels. Dang, that’s cold. The heater is four steps away. I’d be covered in goose bumps if I walked out right now. I’ll just wait for it to get warmer. I need the sleep. Remember all those times I didn’t sleep? This is healthy.

7:30 a.m.


That felt amazing. I am entirely replenished. Born anew. It’s warm enough to walk around. Let me just heat up this water—yes, that stovetop feels good. Now all I need to do is sit down and … uh-oh. The dog. I have two deadlines today. Need to make breakfast. And an 8 a.m. call, almost forgot about that. Do I even have cell reception? Quick, I’ll have to get dressed and walk over to that pay phone.

7:00 p.m.


I can’t believe we made it to Smalltown today. Can’t believe I actually squeezed in that deadline. I still have that other one, though. My brain hurts. Need to figure out dinner. I’ll cook dinner and then do the deadline. No, can’t, I’ll get all excited and not sleep. Did we chain up the bikes, lock the back of the truck? I’ll wake up early tomorrow and finish the deadline.



Why in Job’s name should I sit and stare at my computer more this weekend? We’re near the Ocean of the Beluga Whale (or the Desert of the 20-Foot Cactus, or the Bright Blue Glacial Lake near that Must-Eat Local Restaurant)! I’ll do better next week. I’ll set my alarm for 5:30. I will write.

New places, same rationalizations. It never gets done without discomfort. Travel might inspire stories, but those stories won’t write themselves.



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