So I lay there for a time, one part of me adamantly wanting to go back to sleep, and the other part grumbling "not gonna happen", ache, groan, piss, moan. Then my mind became less webby and I started thinking about the day ahead.
Then some words appeared, drifting up from a dark dreamlike place. Strangely, this was the thing that got me up. Not the list of things I had to do before hustling the kids off to school, no those words which formed a rhythmic beat in my mind, the deepening pulse of a creative vein.
I wrote them down and saw that they were peculiar. They'd lost some of their rhythm once they solidified on the page. And I don't know exactly what they mean. Like a dream, the act of writing tends to boil things up from the subconscious. These words need to be worked over like some precious metal, the dross burned away and their meaning refined before they can be shared.
Particularly those 5am wake-ups leading to the odd existential ramblings of a fictional but sentient universe.
So that was my morning.
How was yours?