If the mountain won't come to Mohammed, Mohammed must go to the mountain. The best way to deal with this living situation, so I can get my book written, is to simply flip my hours. Go to bed while the sun's still shining, get up at 1 or 2 in the morning and write. It's quiet, no aggravation- she's a good neighbor when she's asleep- and it works for me. The fact is, she's a fishwife. We had one on every block growing up. Half the time they were men. Hanging out the window all day, leaning on a pillow, yelling to people and minding everyone else's business. Or sitting on the stoop or porch, usually drunk, the neighborhood critic holding forth. Some people are assholes and there's nothing to be done about it.
This schedule flip happened by accident, like a lot of good ideas in life do. Just being damn tired by 5 p.m. and going in for a nap, which turned into a sleep of 7 hours. I can do this.
This has extra perks. Not being awake at primetime drunk and drugged phone calls, for one. I've come to dread the evening because of the increased crazy quotient. There's a lot of crazy going on right now, much more than normal. And I've become the unlikely matriarch of my family, by deaths and default. It's not easy in a family of boys. I don't know about a family of girls but it's probably no better, just different. Gives me a new perspective on my mother. With all she had against her, I dunno how she stood it.
And I'm still awake for business hours, in fact a bit more together; having been up for hours before the rest of the world has its advantages. It's good today, let's see how it's working a week from now.
The Door Is Ajar.
5 days ago