11pm. I fall asleep to the sound of rain tapping on the roof and imaginary characters tapping at the door to my mind. There is nothing quite like a rainy day that brings out the writing itch. “Tomorrow,” I whisper, soft as the down in the pillow beneath my head, but I leave the door ajar for the voices as I drifted off.
They play through my dreams as I sleep. Inspiration for the next morning.
9am. Still dark enough to be 6. Climb out from the floral covers where the husband and the kitties are still snuggled. Put on the new sweater-poncho I bought for 30% off yesterday. I never go Black Friday shopping, but winter has frosted our small town overnight, and all my winter clothes are packed away in boxes from the move – so a $20 deal from Target it is, until I can find the box…
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