We seem to have been hit by a summer heatwave. Naturally everyone is making jokes that this is the only summer we’ll get so we’d better enjoy it. It reminds me of when I was much younger and an unseasonably warm summer had me sweltering in my bedroom every night. I couldn’t sleep, so I would write. I would sit at my desk, look up at the stars, and dream myself away to another life. The air was hot and muggy, the house was completely silent except for the sound of my fingers tapping on the keyboard. Last night reminded me of just such nights.
They sound horribly uncomfortable, but I’ve always loved them. There’s something special about rare nights awake when no one else is around. Perhaps it’s a throwback to those days when being awake past my parents’ bedtime was still deeply thrilling. There’s something so peaceful about those late nights than turn into very early mornings.
I’m slowly coming back to myself, slowly starting to get a little bit of energy back. Strangely enough, sitting awake in the middle of the night is one of the times when I feel most energetic. The other time is when I’m walking by the water.
I’ve noticed that when I’m not feeling creative in my working life, I channel that frustration into my private life and write and bake. But when things get really bad, even that creative outlet shrivels up and dies. I think that’s what’s happened here. I need, in my working life, to get some joy back. Once I have that, I can start feeling creative again. Until that happens, I’ll read on the balcony while I wait for the muggy nights.