It used to be that 1 AM was when the inspiration happened. When I was a teenager, I looked forward to weekends because weekend nights meant I could stay up late, sit at my desk, and write or draw while listening to music or an audiobook. All of my best drawings and poetry came pouring out of me during the witching hours, when all the world was silent.
Either those late nights are catching up to me now, or I am simply too old to be inspired that late at night/early in the morning. I have 712 words left to write on my paper for a course in modern literary theory. I’ve written 2,288 words that I feel adequately represent my feelings on my chosen subject matter, but the minimum word requirement is 3,000.
It’s 11:30, and I just want to go to bed. I do not feel inspired. I feel tired. Just…tired.
But write I must.
(I feel like I need to get that tattooed somewhere.)