10pm and on. Write, reconsider, rewrite. Throw away and start over again, noticing: Wrong language chosen. Thoughts still somewhat in shape and yet it always feels impressingly difficult to make that shift, mind being already halfway done. (Closing off a few open ends. Something happening rarely enough to really remember the applicable process. Relearning as part of the play, too. Challenging just at certain hours of day. Have a night without too many thinking everyone, no matter where you are.)