morning absurdities

When in the afternoon I read my to do list that I meticulously prepared in the morning, I ask myself, who is that person? Who jotted down those ambitious with a glittery marker? Who chose that marker in the first place? I can’t recognize the marker nor the handwriting. The excitement there makes me want to puke now.. Was I delusional? I was planning to be part of a group art expo? But I can barely tolerate the sight or voice of humans now!

In the mornings, I feel I can write a novel, start a mathematics paper, work for an art expo, lose my extra weight, clean the house… attend to my family, cook, (re)design my retirement coffee shop. But in the afternoon I can barely walk… or discern the colors of my shop’s wall paper, let alone stand and roam among the colorful tables I had designed and painted… Who is this delusional morning person… she can barely stand and move.. Her best friends are her desk, bed, laptop and series.. and novels. all people-less, seated projects. When I am strong in the morning, while reading a passage in a novel, I can see myself writing it with the author.. I can see me coming up with her conclusions myself.. is it me or her? Is it being invented now? when reading a mathematical proof, I can see myself dictating the logical sequence of thoughts to its author, total identification.. Wait is it me? am I finishing this? I could write outlines of my plans.. all of this fades away in the afternoons… afterthoughts, after energy.. after all.