It's not coffee that keeps me awake at night. Somehow my brain activity picks up as the hands of the clock get closer to midnight. Thoughts are more stimulating than anything I can drink. Once an idea hits, I am toast. My mind wanders. Sometimes I write. I wrote my widow memoir most evenings (or would it be those awakening morning hours) after midnight and until four in the morning. Then I would tumble into bed. Too exhausted to sleep. Too tired to stay up. Looking out my windows, the lights against a dark sky, tease me, fill me with a wander lust I rarely have during the day. The first man I slept with after I was on my own did not thrill me as much as the thirty minute drive on the expressway to head back home to my own house. Yes, I traveled to have sex with a man who made me smile, but not enough to stick around all night. Of course, there were the dogs. I am home every night to take care of the hounds. Eight years ago it was two dogs, now it is five. Still, if there wer...
Author, essayist, antique dealer, jewelry designer, dog hoarder. I live in a 1906 Victorian cottage and dream of chickens and goats. My thoughts are all over the place.