There was a time not so long ago when the brightest ideas struck me when I was on the throne in the morning. Probably just early morning clarity, and lack of clutter from the day’s thoughts yet to arrive, that gives room for things to think and write about. Or it could also just be the purely cathartic nature of the business of taking a dump that brings lucidity, and makes space for these sometimes alarmingly astute thoughts.
It made me emerge from the bathroom feeling like a million bucks, (Dayyuumm, that was good!) and invariably I would proceed to give words to said bright thoughts, writing furiously and flippantly, hitting publish without giving it a second thought. But of late, something’s changed. For one, I’ve noticed that the nicest ideas strike when I am taking a bath. Almost like the the faucet above my head, spraying hot water is also sending out a sprinkling of way too many thoughts here and there, in the hope that I will catch it before it flows into the drain, along with strands of hair and the fragrant remnants of bath froth
I no longer appear out of the bathroom with that zen look of balanced accomplishment. No longer do I feel like I have caught that fleeting thought, pinned it in my palm, and like I am just waiting to rush to my laptop and release it. I feel more like I have been assaulted by a million thoughts, criss-crossing each other, while I struggle to nab one of them. An exercise that reminds me yet again that I have never been very good at any sport that required quick reflexes to catch objects flying towards you at dizzying speeds. However, on the rare chance that I have been quick to embed a passing thought in my head, I let it sit there and marinade. This ought to be a good thing, because it probably means the result is well thought out, articulate writing that literally emerged from thin air. But sometimes I let it sit in my head, for what now seems like far longer than is necessary, resulting in a smelly brain-fart that I try and then articulate, but just end up in the recycle bin.
If this seems like I am making more excuses, let be known that I am. I am officially in December mode. In between some manic baking, finishing up work before the holidays are upon me (yes, even those of us on a permanent holiday look forward to the time between Christmas and NYE) and expecting a last bout of houseguests tomorrow I have decided to stop trying to keep all these balls in the air, and let a few drop. Until the new year. Which I hope will bring some renewed madness with a method. Because right now I’ve lost that method.
I was writing a separate post on all those things that 2013 brought that I am thankful for, and all those things I hope 2014 will be. And it struck me, this definitely needs to go on that list. The first half of 2013 was a time when I wrote more than ever. Almost impossibly so, the second half has been just the opposite. When I’ve wanted to write, the words have evaded me. When the words came to me, they jogged my brain in sporadic, incoherent bouts. So while I’m wishing for more magic, better baking, more grounding and settledness in life and the like, I’d also like to ask for the wonder of my version of morning glory. That time to be with myself, to have a clutter-free mind just for some time, so I can snap those transient thoughts in place. God knows I need that release. Of words, of course.