It was completely infuriating to wake up at 5.30 this morning. I roared at my body and brain to go back to sleep, trying to force myself back to the land of nod. Alas, to no avail.
I got up, opened all the windows and doors, did a bit of pruning in the cool back yard, then removed the collection of small spiders that I'd caught in my celtfro. They have taken over the garden, but I'm a bit too big to eat. Somebody must tell them.
Finally, and following the advice that I give to the students that I teach, I sat down and did a bit of work on my research. I've managed to get into the mid-thirties (of 60 pages) and I'm doing a bit of slashing and burning now, plus a bit of housekeeping (alas, not something I relish in the real world): going through the enormous bibliography and checking that the books listed have dates and the citations are complete (they don't and they aren't).
The brain is very fresh early in the morning and without noticing, two hours have gone by and I have managed to tidy up some sections of it nicely. Despite my dislike of Madonna, she has come to dominate three pages as an exemplar of various different approaches to song writing; I feel that she can be condensed a bit further, perhaps like the terrible fellow in Noggin the Nog who was reduced to a clinking cube of ice by the Ice Dragon.
At this point I'm working on flow, and shifting hiccups. That's when you read a couple of pages and something interrupts you that just shouldn't be there. You have to decide whether to throw it aside and risk difficulties in retrieving it if you suddenly come upon a need for the idea, or whether to shunt it into a different place in the prose.
I must go. The kettle has boiled for the second time and there is an entire day to get through now on very little sleep. The coffee pot is going to be very busy today.