The Middle Hours…

…the ones where sleep is elusive, the ones that fall between say–two and six in the morning–are like a secret garden for me. I plant a seed, a thought, then let the idea grow until creativity sparks like a firecracker.

Whatever happens in this time frame sets the tone for my day. It determines whether it will be a FUN day or just another one of those “FUNNY DAYS“!

Why I’m up during what should be my Rapid Eye Movement hours is beyond me…it just is what it is.

It always amazes me how we adapt and learn to tolerate that which makes us crazy–that which makes us freaking exhausted later in the day when we should be functioning like a well oiled engine!

But this time of day/night, however you want to look at it, is often my most creative time IF I can harvest the thoughts running through my brain…the ones that shoot out like bullets from a machine gun.

BAM–there goes another one!

Just when I think I’m coming into focus, honing in on the ramblings/ideas/thoughts scooting back and forth in my brain like a hockey puck being played by two trophy winning teams…

…Just when I think I can sit at my computer and force words to flow through my fingers onto the blank screen, words that should make sense…


I realize I forgot to switch the laundry over before going to bed.

This sets off the train of frustration because I know I will have to run the wash again to get rid of the overnight stench of sitting water.


It’s the chain reaction theory working to keep me running behind, like a watch whose battery is on the verge of dying but not quite. It keeps a little time, the wrong time, but it’s moving just enough to keep me going even though I may reach the TOTAL FAIL POINT…the place where I give in and say time or lack of it wins–I lose.

I wonder whether or not I can achieve all the tasks ahead of me during the correct hours of being awake! Can I fit my creativity onto the list of the ‘honey do’ portion of my day?

What’s a girl to do?

Me–I do what I always do. I step away from the computer, go out to the laundry room, set the wheels in motion once again–and feel some odd sense of satisfaction rain down in my brain.

Score Card

Chores done–10 points!



This happens all too often.

Returning from the laundry room, I wonder what it was I was about to write? The idea eludes me and I feel, well, disappointed, put upon, and bummed out! Will the idea/thought return? Maybe, but maybe not!

I hate my brain some days.

But I’m a creature of habit and force myself to sit and think.

There’s an inkling of something lurking at the end of my finger tips waiting to spring free but the release is not there. It fades away…it’s like a rain cloud that’s moved in front of the sun. That’s right about the time when I notice a pile of crumbs on the floor next to the table upon which my computer sits. This would be a remenent of snacks ingested by my children long after I’d hit the sack the night before.

I try to ignore the distraction by focusing on the blank screen of my computer.

One word…just type one fucking word and you can break the spell I tell myself!

I see the broom taunting me like it always does. It leans against the cupboard all yellow and bristly trying so desperately to seduce me, to get and keep my attention.

“Come on…you know you want to feel my handle in your hands,” it whispers into the air as though I can really hear it…as though I will really truly give a shit.

“Fuck off…I’m trying to work here!” I let these words spin around in my brain silently!

“No, no, no,” it whispers. “You know you can’t write a God Damned thing now that you’ve spotted the mess on the floor!”

“Shut the hell up!” This time I say it out loud, but not loud enough to wake anyone else up.

I have, on occasion, said things too-out-loud during the wee hours and as a result one of my children have wandered out of their bedroom sleepy eyed to ask me who the hell I’m talking to at this unGodly hour.

I have to decide between telling an outright lie, or admit that I’m having a perfectly normal conversation with the broom!

They know I talk to myself…but admitting that I have a real honest-to-God relationship with most of my cleaning utensils may lead to a lot of unsettling questions later on.

I try to ignore it by Googling “Dealing With ADD”.

Focus daily on your overall health, both in mind and body!

Don’t fail to plan. Plan to succeed!

Surround yourself with a positive environment as much as possible!



The authors of these great suggestions obviously do not know me or my family! They must be referring to those who are either only a tad affected by this syndrome or are medicated so heavily they turn into iron-clad-doer’s who TUNNEL VISION everything until they’ve accomplished everything on their list or the med’s have worn off!

My eye’s are once again drawn away from the empty computer screen to those BASTARD crumbs!

Now, call me a freak, but this time when I look at them I see they’ve somehow reshaped themselves to form words.



The earth feels like it’s moving beneath me. I thank God for living in California because the earth does move here. If this is an earthquake it will relieve my of my creative duties, hallelulia, because now I’ll have to run into the kitchen and try to hold as many cupboards closed as I can in order to maintain damage control.

I wait for the bigness of it………………but NOTHING.

I realize as my eye’s turn towards the kitchen that it’s just the fucking broom doing the tango because it’s as ADD as me. It is demanding my attention!

At long last I close my computer in defeat!