Personal writing is often my procrastination tool.

In the old days, I regularly wrote in my blog late at night. So many of the old 2004-2005 entries are in the midnight-4am range. This was back when I worked the night shift as a concierge at a fancy condo building in London, Ontario. I would arrive for my night shift, half-fried from the school day, full of twenty-something stress and angst. After the shift change I would settle into the dark, quiet time. I had a computer with internet access and few obligations. There was a unique feeling to that workspace, that job. Home base was a somber, elegant marble desk with visibility through chic, transparent double doors looking into an empty, intricate courtyard. Quiet dark night. Echoing hollow footfalls. Racoons and crickets. It was pretty ideal for creatively writing.

Now it’s 9:22am and it feels wrong to be wasting morning energy on the selfish act of inwardly focused writing. Yet I’ve learned that years from now, it’s exactly these procrastinating self-indulgent notes that my future self will cherish.