routines

What Happens Every Morning.

I wake up at 6:04, which is about 5:59, since my iTouch’s clock is fast. It’s still dark out, but I get out of bed and feel very proud of myself. 

I check the internet for about three 15 minutes before reminding myself that the reason I’m up early is to write, so I set Freedom (without a doubt, the best $10 I spent in 2011) to 60 minutes.

And then I try to write. But I also stare out the window a lot and watch the colors change.

For a while, everything is just black, except for the diagonal streaks of light serving some sort of design purpose I can’t imagine/don’t agree with in the big apartment building on the corner of my street. 

And then the sky starts turning navy, the kind of navy you want to believe is black if you made a mistake when purchasing stockings. 

From there, everything gets bluer, though it’s still a dark blue, a blue that could pass for this season’s new black, and the naked branches of the trees become visible. 

Then the sky is really blue, a blue that, if you were being gender normative, would do well in a baby boy’s room, a blue so light it would surprise you, considering how dark it still is. 

And then, I’m not staring out into total darkness, but the house across from mine, though I can still make out my reflection in the window. 

Each moment, the sky gets lighter and lighter, which feels like this betrayal of the night, which I suppose it is, as it’s turning into day.

And it’s just like that Hemingway line about going bankrupt, slowly, then all at once, and then it’s time to go to work.