I dislike the feel of afternoons. The times between 2 and 6 seem to be my witching hours. There is a lull in my thinking process, my creativity. It has been this way for as long as I can remember.

I love the morning, with the promise of a new day. The idea of possibilities. It is a blank page waiting to be written on. The quiet I am afforded while the rest of the house has not yet woken, is vital to my own waking process, so is the very strong coffee I love so much.

Night is also filled with moments that I can claim as my own. I love the anonymity the cover of darkness provides. I especially need those past midnight moments to perceive, to think clearly and articulate. There are no interruptions as the rest of the world (as I perceive it) sleeps. I can work, I can daydream, write, create- all without the pesky interruptions of normal everyday life and day to day chores and obligations.

Don’t get me wrong. I love my days. I appreciate all I have in the way of family and friends. I am fortunate. But I am me. I am not Kelly Lee Casey. I am the other name that has a job and real world responsibilities.

I lead a double life. I am. I am. I AM.  And then I AM also my Penn name that writes. Two halves of a whole. That is probably why I hate afternoons so much. It is the in-between, a way station. It is neither ripe with promise nor a time to reflect on what has past.  These are middle hours and to be honest, I just want to take a nap. It is 2:30 in the afternoon as I write this. It is a rarity for me to do so at this time of day, but I just drank a Caramel Mocha Grande from Starbucks and I was suddenly ready to go. Thank God for caffeine.