My circadian rhythms are totally off. My creative juices only start to flow when the clock strikes midnight. Put a blank computer screen in front of me at 07AM and my brain turns to mush. My muse shows only up in the wee hours of the morning. She startles me out of a peaceful slumber, drags me out of bed, plunks me in a chair and orders me to write. She announces that I should be grateful she bothered to show up at all. Impatiently, she proclaims that other more talented writers deserve her presence which means that her visit with me is only transient. I hastily write whatever disjointed thoughts she screams at me knowing I can edit more effectively after she departs. Her visits are frequently unannounced, unexpected, inconvenient and totally incompatible with my day job . I have hopelessly tried to negotiate a reasonable schedule with her but this has miserably failed. She has total control because she knows I cannot function effectively without her. Although impatient and demanding, she actually has helped me to write some fairly ‘good stuff’. I have finally resolved that my newly found literary interests equate to a life of chronic fatigue.