These are the kind of nights that are suppose to be good for writing. Tonight is a night of watching shadows transform into animals as they shift across the ceiling. Trying, and definitely not succeeding to keep my mind quiet. In flows my childhood, adulthood, a lunchtime conversation, a picture of my favorite dog, and… you get the idea. Probably I’m not alone with this. Someone somewhere is wishing they could sleep but instead begin thinking about last Fridays bad hair day. That one thought will lead to another and another with none of them relating to each other. Quite the conversations I’ve had with myself on nights like this. Provided
Hours of entertainment… Nah, not so much.