I write in my sleep. No, literally. I’ll create a song, a scene, an idea, then wake up and write it out.

I keep a notebook on my nightstand. It’s one of my best creative times. I’m sure this isn’t news to my artist friends, who probably maintain 100 notebooks by their beds.

I’ve come up with the premise of two award-winning scripts this way and hope my third with horror king and good friend George C. Romero follows a similar path.

Anyway, two nights ago, I kept thinking – Don’t stare out the window of a speeding train. You’ll live better.

Candidly, staring out the window of a train was one of the things I loved to do the most, riding NY subways and then the Long Island Railroad as a commuter.

And I guess today, based on the crime in NYC subways, it’s best to keep your head on a swivel and not stare too long at anything to survive a mugging or worse.

Plus, nobody gets undressed with their blinds open anymore, which was sort of cool to see a long time ago. You can be a voyeur without admitting to it.

“Oh, I was staring out the train window, and you won’t believe what I saw!”

And then it came to me about all this speeding train and avoiding windows stuff:

When you stare out the window of a speeding train, life is a blur – The present and the future fast forward into the past.

You miss things.

You forget moments.

Your focus is consumed by the past.

Frankly, the blur, where all moments are a pastpourri (see what I did there?), stultifies your brain. You no longer grow. You can no longer hold a conversation unless it’s about the past.

Your brain is stuck in some mental freeze when you can’t shake something that happened to you or somebody else in 2013 and can’t stop bringing the shit up. And then, your friends disappear.

You’re trapped in the speed, man. (Say that like Al Pacino in Heat).

Until – You turn your eyes from the window. Back to reading, watching commuters, or whatever the hell isn’t out the window and in the blur.

Life slows or stops. The moment freezes.

You can’t go anywhere, yet you’re moving fast.

You’re living fully in the present.

What if you could spend more time freezing small moments and living in the present?

Sometimes I focus on the click of the keyboard when I type and enjoy the sound of it.

So I’m getting weirder. Who cares?

Regardless, you get the lesson, and Tuesday is one of the worst days for lessons.

Who created Tuesday, anyway?

It’s not even Jan Brady.