It’s three in the morning here at the Marriott Residence Inn. My daughter and our dogs are curled up on the pull out bed like a small pack of beasts, perfectly comfortable with one another, and perfectly sleeping. Daizy is snoring like a chain saw. The temperature at our house rose above one hundred degrees this past week, all week, so the girls and I left for cooler temperatures just 30 minutes up the line closer to the San Francisco, where the Bay insulates the land from the worst of the sun’s punishment.
Apollo is punishing everyone these days with great fervor.
I can’t sleep. I was doing alright at first but a tickle in Leslie’s throat kept her up for a time. Now, hours after I went to bed, I’m up wide eyed on the computer with joints that are aching and the urge to write in my head.
Some times it’s better just to go with it.
I have nothing clever to say, really. Perhaps rather oblique observations about people on the BART train. Fodder for another post maybe, but not tonight.
As it was bound to happen, my captivating and enjoyable job is taking up so much space in my brain, that I find myself with little time or energy to write clever narratives. In Connecticut, the job I had there, which I could’ve easily done in two and a half days and still been successful, lent itself very nicely to part time blogging. This one is much more demanding.
Maybe it’s just that I’m more content and so have less to work out in writing, less to bitch and moan about.
I’m going to give this more thought.
But first … back to sleep.