It is Monday and I'm sitting at Starbucks, listening to Pink Martini, with a cup of regular coffee and my computer. I forgot to ask for decaf and I hope I don't pay the price tonight. I normally don't drink caffeine past noon.
I'm editing now. My pre-read partner, Carol, pointed out I'd missed a fabulous opportunity to give a whole host of reactions to my protagonist's latest outrageous, brazen act of desperation. Carol was so right, so I must edit before I read at my critique group on Thursday.
I'm thrilled to report I still feel upbeat today. Maybe I don't mind going in to work tomorrow after all. It isn't the work I dread, actually, it is the getting up at six in the morning. I am not a morning person. I used to feel guilty about that. "Early to bed, early to rise...blah blah blah" "Early bird gets the worm...blah blah blah." Five days a week my alarm blasts me out of a perfectly tranquil existence at 6am. You'd think that after so many years of that, my eyes would automatically pop open moments before, even on the weekends.
I believe we are either born night owls or morning larks and there isn't a thing we can do about it except set our alarms. We are what we are and there is nothing wrong with someone who isn't a morning lark. Ben obviously felt a certain amount of contempt for night owls as evidenced by his "Early to bed..." statement, but really, if everyone got up and rushed to Starbucks at the same time, think of the lines.
And some of the authors I've met have said they are most prolific from 10pm to 3 or 4 in the morning. That is not the voice of a morning lark. Bless them. It restores the hope that one can become wealthy and wise late at night, Mr. Know-It-All Franklin. I'm grateful to you for founding libraries, but don't try to tell me your way is the only way.
My thanks to all who have fought for my country, from the revolution to present. Your sacrifice enables me to sit in this Starbucks on Memorial Day and I want you to know I appreciate you. Bless you all, living and dead.