In The Middle Of The Night I Woke To Write But I Need A Tissue



So I did that first. Write, write, write, write… a good kickoff, no? Not. Here I am reading it over and over without an inspirational thought to continue on with. I’d thought maybe the morning or if not I’d check back with it at different times throughout the day and now the sun’s setting – still nothing. There’s a strange light in the distance, you know, over the balcony and the view of the trees. Could be pollution or a small planet. A ship? A specter? Huh. I’m not going to stand here like a fool watching as it gets too close like a Hollywood scene. But what is it? And it is moving. Son of a gun.


Which reminds me of that restaurant again…


How did I get home? I woke up in bed but the last thing I actually remember was being in the painting watching the flames devour the dining room feeling I was beginning to melt with the colors. It was such a brilliant morning.


Guess I’d better make sure her social security checks stop coming to me. At least get that right. Things’ll work out somehow.



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