The weather is sticky and unpleasant, unless you’re outside enjoying the breeze. Horns of traveling city folk blare, neighbor dogs wail to be allowed back in, and the nearby highway roars with use. Yet, she is under a sheet with her eyes closed, drifting off toward Dream World. Blair, the best 5 year old Spaniel Beagle ever, is cuddled close for comfort and warmth. The whole while, keyboard buttons are pressed, and a computer mouse guides clicking desire.
I do not want to rest, though I want to hold her and lay together. I cannot allow my self to fall asleep, yet I want to help her feel cherished and snug as she dozes the evening away. I have so much to do it seems: finish writing novel #1 and fixing unholy mistakes in novel #2, read the library books I’ve held hostage for weeks, play with pets who long for attention, and meditate on rage. However, I write as my heart bleeds ink and my imagination pounds with creativity. I force eyelids open as her sleep consumes me. Contagious it is, that thing people call sleep.
Rest. Relax. Fall deep into blanket of “I am not at work!”
This battle I am losing as I watch her enjoy the sweet surrender to Nyx. The Sandman gets angry with me as the dust that brings sleep, saturates my lungs and I do not fall. Defiant I wobble in the office chair. Once already, I almost caved and laid down on the cool sheets of the bed. Seconds it took for me to realize I was giving in. Not just yet. Not right this moment. Claim me tonight when the moon smiles across the expanse of the our system unto my forehead.
Why do I torture my self, my muse is so at peace I am envious. I want that solitude. But only for the briefest of moments. No 4 hour surprises. I want to make progress with all I know I must achieve before punching that clock again in 40 hours. Hmph, alarm, do not fail me now!