Simon and I picked the perfect time to have a long, intimate, heartfelt talk in bed last night – the night the clocks go forward – and we lose an hour – so that when we’re finally ready to go to sleep, feeling all loving and cozy and nice (communication has a way of doing that) it’s not 2 a.m. – it’s actually 3 a.m. and – damitall – I wake up at 7.15 a.m. because it’s light out and I’ve been waking up shortly after 6, so – well, what I’m trying to say is that I got 4 hours sleep last night and I’m not exactly at my best. Not in top shape, if you will.
Total shite if truth be told.
I had the insane notion of writing a story today. I got through a thousand words and lost track of characters, plot or any valid reason for writing in the first place.
Better to just get out with the dogs. And we did that in the warm, beautiful sunshine with signs of spring everywhere.
So I suppose that was good.
And now I’m insanely excited about bedtime. What do you mean it’s only 4 p.m.?
I have to get up at 5.30 tomorrow morning to go for a full day snowshoe up Mount Lepsoe. Damn right I’ll go to bed early.