I woke up obscenely early this morning, like 3am early, various neuroses swinging recklessly along the monkey bars of my mind. Nowadays, I welcome preposterous, unyielding moments - there’s something that needs addressing. I have precious little time for over thinking these days, so whatever life throws at me I tackle head on. This is a good thing. 3am coffee it is.

I’m sitting in my yard in the pitch black, nocturnal varmints still rustling in the bushes. I read an article about everybody’s go-to thespian Mark Wahlberg, how he wakes up at 3am everyday. I get it - it’ll be the equivalent of a full work day before anyone in my orbit’s tasting the toothpaste. The space is welcome.

I feel acutely the imposter syndrome I’ve written about before - it’s good now, but someone surely will find me out, right? In letting this kind of thing steer the ship, pedestrian business becomes Shaq shooting free throws. Here I am, hucking up brick after somnolent brick in my weedy yard, entertaining every “what if” imaginable, all while Marky Mark’s doing bicep curls in West LA. It is, like I say, preposterous.

I value occasionally folding in on myself - it doesn’t mean I’m fucking up or someone’s Machiavellian plot’s unfolding, only that there’s imbalance, and a little fine tuning never hurt anyone.

The birds are exuberant in their dawn chorus, and I allow myself a grateful smile. I'm still here, fighting the good fight. Breath in, breath out…