About Last Night

I spent last night sitting in a candlelit kitchen writing a play with characters I adore, sipping wine and periodically gazing out the window at the glowing city lights down the hill and it was nirvana. This must become my job. I don’t remember a time when I felt so content and the hours are perfect.

I like my cheesecake kinda spicy

As a result of my graveyard writing spell and possibly the full moon, I slept all morning or actually I slept til I woke up which just makes the world even MORE awesome. The only thing missing from the blissful cloud on which I perch is an Urth Café close enough to be able to yell my order out the bedroom window. Couple that with a hot chiseled South American polo player serving it up and we’re cooking with gas.

Nacho: Buenos Dias, Mujera. I have jur magic calorie free mocha soy latte.

Me: Thank you, Nacho.

Nacho: Jew are so welcome. May I rrrrub jur feet while you write a new meeyon dollar masterpiss?

Me: Why jess, jess you may.

Anyway, I was awake until close to three when I became a zombie and somehow remembered to put the clothes in the dryer. I wrote my way through to the act break and it seemed at that point that I was sleepwalking, so it was a good time to call it a day.

The coolest thing about the night though is that I sat down and wrote for a solid six and a half hours and had no idea that anything more than an hour or two had passed. Isn’t that the kind of work we’re all striving to get? The kind that comes naturally, that you enjoy so much your house burns down because you became too engrossed in your job and dumbly thought you could cook dinner at the same time? I think the pop term most frequently used, especially by Oprah is finding your passion.

It reminds me of when I went through a phase where I was trying to find my passion or “hobby of my affection” and like most things, it was right in front of me, but I thought of writing as more of a personal venture. I was afraid of trying to do it for a living because I didn’t trust myself to stick to deadlines. To make matters worse, I had a sort of stage fright. If someone were to ask me to write something for them, give me an assignment so to speak, I would freeze up. The words that on any other day flowed freely around my head vanished. Performance anxiety. And no, there’s no purple pill or app for that.

So, I was way more productive than at any time I’ve worked during daylight. Even on those early mornings, I do my best work in dark, just before sunrise. Well, I say that and then I remember that yesterday afternoon, I wrote in the back room of The Coffee Table (which has the most ergonomically correct tables and chairs by the by) for nearly four hours.

Okay. I don’t have time to edit this. My water’s boiling and I’m prepping to work again tonight.