I’m writing this post late at night. It’s 23:28 on Tuesday evening and I’d do all my writing at this time of day (night, whatever) if I could.
I’ve turned off the big light and my lamp is giving me just enough light to see my keyboard. There’s soft music playing in my headphones and I’m nice and warm and in those early stages of tiredness where you’re starting to wind down but are still alert enough to do stuff.
I don’t think I’ve ever liked mornings. I never quite know how stiff or achy I’m going to be when I wake up, or how long it’s going to take me to be able to do things.
On bad days it’s been known to take me fifteen minutes to button up a blouse because that’s fiddly and hard work for my hands. Doing up a bra clasp and making sure the straps aren’t twisted can take several attempts, and getting my shoes on is a whole other nightmare.
In other words, if I have to be out of the house by a certain time, mornings are a pain. I always associate them with rushing. I have no problems being against the clock for a work deadline, but being against the clock against your own body almost, that is never fun.
That’s why I like the night, you know where you stand with it. If I’m having a bad CP day I’ve usually had chance to ease the aches and pains, I can really take the time to get a good stretch out before I go to bed, usually while I’m doing writing in my own little bubble.