Don't Want to Get Into It...

Breathe. I don't like being in a bad mood. And yet that's where I find myself at this way-past-my-bedtime hour. Disgruntled. Torqued. Just...

Just breathe.

I picture the red-head with the deep amber eyes. She's smiling. Now I'm smiling. Wishing I was with her this evening. Her voice calmed me and helped me relax, but now that the goodnights have been said and the conversation long over, I find myself restless and unable to sleep. I miss her tonight, as I do any night I do not see her. Tonight, more so.

I'm tired. Exhausted. But still riled up and not in the mood to dream. So I sit. I post. I fester here in my kitchen, watching some butter soften for no reason only because someone left it out. I might remember to put it back. I might throw it away.

Breathe.

Count to ten.

Exhale.

The house is falling asleep. Upstairs the little one is bounding around, looking for me to play. His cat dancer will be waiting for me when I get to my room. Maybe he'll have one of his "mice" subdued for me by the door.

The air conditioner hums, filling the house with a white noise that is punctured by the sound of my laptop keys as I type and the hall clock ticking away more and more of the time I need for other things. Like sleep.

But I thought I'd post. Just a bit. And this was enough for now. I do have things to do. And then I will sleep. And with any luck, this irksome feeling will vanish with the sunrise. I doubt it. I think I'm just putting it on a slow burn.

Makes me want to write. But that'll have to wait until tomorrow.

Going to sleep now. After I put the butter away.