What Time Is It?

Day, night.  Morning, evening.  It's all run together of late.  And what time is it now?  Early.  Or late. Depends on how you determine the starting point.

There are times when I get this way . . . writing at such a long and furious pace that I lose track of the hours, the days.  I've got so many books in-progress at present, it's difficult to remember which publisher is reviewing which book, or why.  I'm writing new books alongside older ones, and in between the cracks, I'm tossing in a few new stories to boot.

I'm not tired.  Yet.  But that's coming.  Eventually I'll hit that invisible wall, my energies will drop off, and I'll be a Rip Van Winkle for a day and actually sleep ten hours or so. 

Presently I'm steeling myself for a quick trip to the gym.  It's open now.  And if I can work heavy, push and pull on some weight for a few minutes, burn some calories, and then get back home, I'll have time to write for a bit longer while my heart rate is high.  Makes for a faster pace at the keyboard.

Heck, it's a hurried and fast-paced life.  Lots of people to see today.  Work to do.  Words to write.  How come I can't get that 25th hour into a day?