In my blog post from yesterday I wrote how magically wonderful it was to write my morning pages first thing in the morning as prescribed by the great and powerful Julia Cameron in The Artist's Way. I says to self, "Self, do your pages in the morning more often. It makes you feel great. There is no need to fit it in during the day. It's already done."
Self can suck it.
THAT was yesterday. SUNDAY. I laid in bed for awhile, I stretched, made a cup of tea and casually sauntered over to the chair by my window to write my pages. If yesterday's pages were music, they'd be something classical, reminiscent of a meadow and larks and Bambi. Today is MONDAY. I slammed the alarm clock as it went off, fell off the bed all haphazard like and collapsed in my chair to write my friggin' pages. If today's pages were music, they'd be angry metal music, reminiscent of the color black, Rob Zombie and Bambi's hunter.
I'm better off writing my pages when I'm better at being awake. End of story.