I wish I hadn't waited until after already climbing into bed before trying to formulate and articulate a post, but Tuesdays are my busy days. And by the time I climb into bed and feel the cool sheets wrap around my legs, I realize that it's the first time I've actually relaxed all day. I have to let the tension of work and running around after slowly ebb away before I pick up my laptop and begin to write. Even if I don't have anything interesting to type, and I have even less interesting ways of typing it, I have to write. If I don't, I feel like I'm missing the opportunity for something. Maybe that's the reason that for every seven bullshit posts I create, there may be one or two where I actually manage to get something out that really needs development.
Busy day ahead tomorrow, but I'm loving the current projects I'm completing as I continue to settle into the groove. I'd like to get up and out the door early in the morning. There's a new caramel treat at Starbucks that I've got a yen to guzzle another venti size of as soon as possible.
I finished "Graveyard Shift," and I'm moving onto "Night Surf" before I drift off to wonderland for the night. More on the former story, a tale of rats like no other I've ever read, when I come next to also hopefully write about the latter.
My bed is empty tonight sans myself and Mary Louise.
It feels strange.
What does that mean?
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