Posted: November 25, 2009 in Headspace, Home, insomnia, Video

It’s 3:00 in the morning. I woke up a half-hour ago. I thought I was gently tossing and turning, but I guess in Calvin’s Bill’s sleep-absorbed mind I was jumping up and down on the bed. I got several “Uuuunnnggg!”‘s from him, so I decided to give up the ghost and just go out to the living room. He has to work tomorrow, after all, and I do not.

(Aside: I’m going to amuse myself with keeping track of how many times I automatically type “Calvin” instead of “Bill”. Nine years of this is going to be difficult to break, I suspect.)

It’s cold in here right now. Google’s weather widget says it’s fifty degrees outside, though I’m not going to open the back door and turn on the light to check the thermometer on the patio. Our suburban area is often times a good five degrees cooler than Phoenix itself, which is what I believe the weather widget is based on. Fortunately I did a load of throws and afghans, so I grabbed one from the dryer just now and I am currently curled up on the couch. Ozzy is rather put out that I have the laptop on my lap, when HE could be on my lap. He’s purring like you read about, but alternates between marching in place with his front paws on my hip bone (ow, cat) or standing on the edge of my lap desk and sticking his nose in my ear. Yeah, he’s not fooling me. He’s pretending to be affectionate because he’s cold. It is always thus, in wintertime. Zoe will probably make an appearance soon – she chirped at me from her position at the foot of the bed when I got up, but seemed disinclined to leave the warmth of Calvin’s feet at the time. That will change as soon as she figures out I haven’t just gotten up to go pee or something.

A thought just crossed my mind. See, with as much as I write EVERY SINGLE DAY, for some reason I’m still stuck in the mindset that unless one has a published series of books on the shelf, and makes their primary living putting the written word down on paper, one is not actually a writer. It comes from the definition that I held as a child, I guess, when I used to write stories in my Mead notebook and dream of being an author “some day”. That daydreamed visualization of sitting at a typewriter, reams of paper scattered at my feet, tearing my hair out while searching for an exact phrase, stressing about plots and deadlines and manuscripts. YET. I have pudding-proof that I am wrong in that narrow definition, beyond the fact that the sheer number of my words that exist on the internet (many of them that I actually get PAID for) is ASTOUNDING. My proof is this: the first thing I did when I got up in the middle of the night was start this entry. I didn’t pick up a book, didn’t turn on the TV, didn’t make a cup of tea or do any of the other myriad of things that are in an insomniac’s arsenal. No, I started writing.

When your automatic inclination, when you have some spare time, is to start typing or scribbling away, you’re a writer. Doesn’t matter if you never share your writing with another living soul. Doesn’t matter if it’s poetry or fiction or journaling. When you just HAVE TO write because it’s such a deep set part of you that the thought of writing rather than SLEEPING doesn’t bother you in the slightest, you’re a writer.

That is my deep ponderance for this episode of Insomniac Theater. I am off to surf Hulu and perhaps have a cookie and some tea. I shall leave you with this, which I dedicate to Heather.

  1. Kami-o says:

    I agree with you. Like you I’ve been writing in journals since I was little and tried to write everyday. I still keep a bedside journal next to my bed for entries I can’t allow the public to see.

  2. iamheatherjo says:


    I’m not a writer. I write all the time. Volumes upon volumes and I’ve been paid. But I feel the same way about taking photos. I’ve been doing it since I was old enough to have my own camera and have an unbelievable collection of photos, but when people ask if I’m a photographer and I always say ‘no’.

  3. Shelli says:

    I’m too late, I missed the opportunity to yell Cooooookie!! 😀 Gawd, I love the Muppets and Sesame Street!

    When I was younger, I never bothered to write anything down. Too lazy, I guess, and I really hate writing with an actual pen or pencil. I kept it all in my head. The first computer I got was in 1981 (I was 11), and I taught myself how to type. But even then, I didn’t keep personal stuff in there, ’cause I didn’t want my parents to see it. Once floppy discs and stuff like Word came out, I was all over it, writing constantly. Now it seems, every time I have something to say, and I head for the computer, one of life’s monkey wrenches is thrown at me. How do you deal with it when that happens? Do you just remember it, or jot *something* down to remind you?

    • Tiffany says:

      You’re never too late!

      Sometimes I write stuff down to remember later, but since I’m ALWAYS on my computer I tend to just write it down as it happens.

  4. Kimmothy says:

    I’ve been putting pen to paper, to journal, write long rambling letters, really bad poetry and short stories since I was ten. It took a HUGE amount of balls to start writing on the internet, because that meant other people would actually read (gasp!) something I wrote. I actually think it’s my love of reading that propels me to write; I don’t know. But I get a lot of satisfaction from it and even if I never get paid a dime for doing it, it was worth it because of all the crazy-amazing people I’ve gotten to know because of it.

  5. David says:

    Oh yes, you’re a writer all right. Not a doubt in my mind. This blog form is maybe not fully mature yet. We don’t even know if it will mature at all. Maybe it will just fade away or morph into something else. People blog for so many different reasons. I’m not sure why I do it. The other day I was thinking of the various folks I’ve gotten to “know” through their blogs, who I’ve never met IRL, but whose paths I vicariously tread. I see a parallel to the people we get to know on reality TV, but yuk on that crap. Maybe I shouldn’t see a parallel cuz I don’t watch that stuff– so let’s call it hearsay. But their is this voyeuristic element to both, isn’t there? Some kind of removed intimacy … whatever you want to call it. I like to think that it’s more willful, honest, and innocent than the lurid crap on the telly, but then, there are lurid bloggers too. Not a fan. I like blogs like yours. Tasteful, personal, honest, and well written. Nice job converting insomnia into entertainment for your readers. Happy Thanksgiving. 🙂

    • Tiffany says:

      😀 You’re very kind, David! I don’t think blogs, or something like them, will ever really fade away. There’s always going to be some sort of medium, out there, that allows people to communicate in this way. I do love all of the on-line friends that I’ve never met IRL, that I’ve established friendships with via this website. Happy Thanksgiving back!

      • David says:

        Yes, instant publication is hard to beat. But I hate that I can’t edit out when I use the wrong “their”. Embarrassing. 🙂 You’ve been at this much longer than I have Tiffany. So you’re the role model. I hope you’re right about blogging not fading away. There’s something precious about it. Truly.

  6. Hmmm. I am still internally torn on this subject…and I am not sure why. Maybe I am (or was) at the point you found yourself resting yesterday.

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