2001 – 2002
I used to hop on the 6.35am #96 tram at its terminus on Nicholson Street to travel in to work. I loved being up at that hour to watch the delivery trucks zoom around the empty streets, making their bread and fruit deliveries to all the cafes. I would slouch into the corner of the seat, always on the left-hand side (my preference) and watch the sunrise come up over the eastern suburbs. This was usually in the Autumn months, like we’re in now, and those magnificent pinks and purples were a lovely welcome to the new day.
I would alight the tram on the corner of King and Bourke Streets to usually be the first waiting in the Hudsons Coffee line. I’d order my tall capuccino and blueberry bagel, walk next door to my work, go up to my desk, and sit and write my novel for the next hour. Then it was time to start over, this time at my ‘real job.’
It was those 60-odd minutes I managed to squeeze into my day that got me through the typical drudgery we all feel when we’re in an unsatisfying occupation – and my job, as far as it went, was quite cushy, thanks. But it wasn’t fulfilling. It was the writing which compelled me to set my alarm early, and even earlier once we moved out into the suburbs.
2009
Now I am struggling to find a similar kind of motivation to get me going again.
You see, the clock ticks over 7am and if the kids aren’t awake, I lie there and think, Sleep on, my babies. Sleep! So I may, too. There’s no more jumping out of bed to fling myself upon the day; I wait for it to break yellow like an egg all over me and my face. While the kids were babies, I cared little about the shunt my life took. I was getting such little sleep that any sort of lie in could be well justified, but now they’re at an age where I feel I can no longer use them as excuses for my own inaction.
I don’t know how I’m going to ‘fix’ my laziness. I’ve gone through periods where I’ve set the alarm to a super early time to get up to work or go to the gym and each time I hit the ‘off’ button without a thought. Perhaps that needs to stop. Perhaps I need to turn into a night owl. Perhaps I need to stop writing posts like this and just get on with it.
So I will.
