There is nothing that I know of quite like a morning off from responsibilities. By this I do not simply mean work, but school, and appointments, small things like phone calls and errands. Mornings off lend themselves to their own kind of puttering, and for me, a slow series of movements not unlike a treasure hunt, leading me closer, and closer still to that something I've been searching for, although, to be honest, I never really find it because I'm never really certain what it is in the first place. But, no matter, it's all about the search in the end.
It usually starts with an email, or an article online, news, poetry, etc., maybe even the first lines of a story if there's a book next to me at the desk (which I thumb through as email loads, I'm terribly impatient). So, I read this thing, this word or phrase, that reminds me of another, and another, and on and on and so forth until there are piles of books at my feet, all wrestled from their original places, stacks of photocopied and marked up essays and articles mingling inbetween the piles, and a dozen or so tabs on the screen. There is always coffe and scraps of paper for marking, always a pen, a pencil, some faint chattering of NPR in the background.