It's another of those nights, Reader. I have a to-do list before me, and long, uninterrupted night ahead. The dog kept me company for a while. Inspired by some rather questionable music, I picked him up and danced him around the room. As soon as I put him down, he retreated in disgust.
The LED marked "internet" on my modem is blinking frantically at me. It is the only movement around. The night is still and windless. I've already read all my favourite blogs, caught up on the news, abandoned a very soppy romance novel in disgust, and yes, danced with the dog. It's time to get to work, and yet, I find myself reluctant to begin.
I'm in a curious mood. I know what I need to do, but the doing is so hard. I wish I could throw prudence and caution and good sense to the winds, and march on, singing a song about following my dreams. I wish I could be spontaneous and passionate and unthinking of consequences. I'm tired of this, Reader... Of falling and getting up and dusting my knees and starting again. I want to sit in the mud for a while and have a good cry.
Then, I'll come back here, and sit down again, and work till dawn.