I'm pretty much wasted by four. On occasion, I can stretch it ‘til six if I'm real charged with a creative groove. But pretty much every, day, the minute The P.I.C. walks in the door, my focus is toast.
Telltale signs include:
Hunching my shoulders, now balled with pent-up tension
Addictively scrolling Insta cats
Marathon-watching Ellen clips
Repetitively having to reread, and still missing the mark
In the land of Tapped Out, typos reign and I become vocally dyslexic, garbling my speech to the point of inaudible. When Jimmy responds with - "I have no idea what you just said." - I know it's time to chill the fuck out and do something mindless or movement oriented, away from work or self-study.
86 thought for the day. Time to hit the pillows or play with the fur babe.
Knowing that about myself - when my energy flow rises, peaks and valleys - helps me prioritize the important work. Apply the creative focus that weaves my masterpieces. Ideally, the rest falls along the hillside as my energy winds down - writing social media updates, responding to comments, posting videos, designing images, general organization. Saving the best of myself for the deep work, the genuine expression, the most exciting, fulfilling, purpose-guided writing—is essential, and a constant work in progress.