This morning, Martin awakened me at 5:20. Though I generally rise at 6, the forty minutes loss of sleep proved quite difficult for me to overcome. I felt as though sprites kept pulling me back into the snuggly womb of sleep, even as I sat at the kitchen table, wrapped in a blanket, forcing my eyes to stay open and my hand to keep tipping tea into my mouth. Tea, elixir of life.
The idea with the extra-early mornings is that Martin and I gain an hour or two of writing time when quiet fills the house and we feel extra fresh. Well, Martin feels extra fresh, anyway. He is a classic morning person, and I am a textbook night owl. I love, love, LOVE being awake at night when everyone else is sleeping. Last night, I had to force myself to lay aside my book at 11. I've been known to stay up until 12, 1, 2, bustling around the house while everyone else sleeps. I feel as if the world is mine at midnight, all mine, and that anything is possible.
But before six in the morning, the world is not mine, and I feel like an awkward guest. Nothing is possible but sleep. Apparently this morning when Martin woke me, I offered him my meager paycheck (400.) if he would let me go back to sleep. "The check is downstairs," I murmured. "Think of what you could do with 400." He resisted the temptation and kept poking me until I finally stuck my feet out of the covers.
When I made it downstairs ten minutes later, he was making tea and finishing a crossword puzzle. "Look at that!" he said, tossing it aside. "Couldn't do it last night and finished it this morning in two minutes!" I put my head on the table and almost fell asleep again.
Okay, it's so pathetic, I know. But early mornings are a cross-cultural experience for me. I'll do better tomorrow. But I'll never do as well as Martin. I know that.
Yesterday morning when I came downstairs and started fixing the kids eggs, Martin fired up the wireless speaker. "Guess what," he said, "I recorded a song this morning." The dream world offered up a song just in time for the first day of FAWM (February Album Writing Month), and Martin, who has the garage band app loaded on his phone, was ready to record. At 5 in the morning. I'm just saying, that's a morning person. I'm lucky if I can get toothpaste on a brush at that time.
Martin described the dream he'd had, where he'd walked into a public restroom and heard music coming through the grate. He woke and recorded what he'd heard, instrumentation and weird old-man voice and all. Merry shook her head as she ate breakfast. "You guys are weird," she said, "And I'm okay with that. But this is too weird." By last night, though, she was dancing and singing with it. You know how people describe memories of bizarre drug trips? This is kind of like that. It sticks in your head like the vestiges of a very strange, slightly wrong dream.
I think when the old guy bids "everyone, sing along," he's talking to the many voices in his head. Merry and I have come up with a fitting music video for the song, with the old guy in the middle and his multiple inner voices all around his head, singing with him.
Anyway, if you want to listen, here's the link:
AIRPLANE'S A-HAPPENIN' [AT FAWM.ORG]
And if anyone has any insight into the two word lyrics, please feel free to share your wisdom.
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