First thing in the morning

My dream morning grants me sleep until I awake on my own. Opening my eyes and grabbing my laptop without leaving my bed, I sit and write, uninterrupted. 

There's something about that moment. Ideas stir, sharp and fresh. The details of the day have yet to burrow into my brain. I've made no foolish choices that I need to regret. I have no sleepiness I need to suppress. 

Rare, this type of morning. Near fantasy. Reality finds me going to bed late and getting up with my family. They need socks and breakfast and homework papers signed, so I step away from my interior life and into the kitchen. Coffee it is. Order it is. We are packing lunches; we are preparing for the day; we are on schedule.

Once I'm up and going, I find it hard to resettle into the easy place of ideas. I walk through the house and shut off the lights; shut off the TV. I return to my room, or maybe sit on the couch with my laptop and a blanket, and in the first of ironies, work myself back to a relaxed state. Sometimes I forget that this is my goal and I check email and social media sites. The distractions worm their way into my work, and now I'm fighting not only the caffeine and the household chores, but the desire to connect with people. This is the second irony: in order to connect with people as a writer, I have to limit my time connecting in easier ways.

Some days I press. Other days I waste. So the day begins.

This is my third post about my favorite places to write. The list came first, then a discussion of my house, empty.