There was one thing that I always found myself wishing for while I was attending university, and that was for more time to focus solely on my writing. One way or another, with the nonstop deadlines for various projects on the subjects I had little or no interest in, I never seemed to have enough time to generate much more than a few simple poems. Maybe, if I was lucky, or thrifty enough with my time, I’d write the occasion short story, which would then sit on the top of my desk, collecting dust, as I became too occupied by the demands of those classes that I had to force myself to care about.

Eventually, when I knew that I wanted writing and literature to become, more or less, my life, I started manipulating to allow for more focus on those endeavors. I started sacrificing sleep for the sake of my art, rising up when the sun remained low beyond the horizon, still slowly moving around the world towards the east coast, everyone in the house still asleep as I made myself coffee and a small breakfast to start my day at the fine hours three and four in the morning.

For most of my time at Towson, my schedule was, to some, a nightmare. From the time I awoke at 3-3:30 a.m. until the time I left for class--which started at 6:30 a.m., but became later as the years moved on--I made time for my writing. Often, especially in the evenings, I found myself nodding out behind the wheel. I’ll admit, I wasn’t living the safest lifestyle. Nor was it the healthiest. But I felt the best about the work that I was doing; all my efforts to improve in my writing were, seemingly, paying off as I eventually landed a book publication through a small press--that nightmare of a story is for another time.

Each day at Towson dragged on as the exhaustion compounded year after year.

On average, should it be a night where night terrors weren’t wreaking havoc on my psyche, I’d be able to get about four hours of sleep with the schedule I was abiding by. Tuesday’s and Thursday’s were my easy days since I only had to sit and be semi-present in class, while Monday’s, Wednesday’s, and Friday’s I had work at the warehouse I was freelancing at. On those days, especially come Friday’s, I’d fall asleep as soon as I’d get home for a least an hour or so before going out, or beginning to drink while reading so as to unwind.

There were many sensation I began experiencing during this time that I’d not encountered before. The sense that I could feel myself growing as a writer, and as a self-proclaimed intellectual. Epiphanies were more frequent, as were the hard-to-explain sensation that I was outside of myself, looking down at my body, at the world around my body, experiencing something that was more metaphysical than I thought that I could imagine.

Though perhaps these grandiose thoughts were due to the lack of sleep I was experiencing.

Regardless of what may have caused them, I’m grateful for them. It was through these years of dedication that I felt the most growth towards what I wish to become.

Then, once I graduated, my wish was granted. I gained more time to focus on my writing.

I worked as a server a couple of days a week at this point, and could take off, more or less, whenever I wished to do so.

Despite the amount of my freetime I wished to give over to writing, I didn’t.

And I stopped writing for most of year following my graduation date.

The incredible thing about time is that when we have too much of it, it becomes harmful to us, especially is the individual is prone to procrastination--such is the way I am.

While I had more time than I had in previous years, I squandered most of it on nothing. Days were wasted watching old anime, movies or shows I’d been wanting to watch, catching up with old friends, searching for a full-time job, playing Fortnite, etc., etc., etc..

All the discipline I had created for myself during university had abandoned me, and while my will to write remained, my desire to indulge in nothing won the battle nearly every time.

Now, after having nearly a month off, I have started working a full-time job. My time has been restructured and limited. No more will I have weeks off. I’ve signed on to work for them, Monday through Friday, forty hours a week.

To be honest, I never wanted to conform to the nine-to-five lifestyle. I just never thought it was for me. The writers that I read always damned it, and so I had the preconceived notion that it would remain my creative spirit; drain the soul from my body.

And, since I’m only in my first week, maybe, eventually, it will.

But, for now, it’s revitalizing. There is structure to my day-to-day life. I know my income each week, and I know when I have to be away from my desk at home and at my desk at work. There’s great potential in having a structured lifestyle, should you have the determination and discipline to make it into something more.

Not everyone will be this way, of course. At times, I wish I was one that could dedicate all their free time into their creativity with ease, without procrastination.

We are not all the same though. And some of us thrive when there is some semblance of structure in place.

Perhaps it stems from the sense of security. Or, perhaps not.

We all have our own methods. What it takes for some is determination. While others require dedication. When there is an outline in place, it allows us, with determination and dedication, to build something wonderful around it.