The plan was to go to bed a little earlier, get up a little earlier, go for a bike ride, wash my hair and take a nap. I was drifting around my house like a ghost and stricken with writer’s block. I was being unproductive. AND it was freezing! It’s too early to turn the heat on and I’m still trying to eat the cake I baked from last weekend, so baking another sugary sweet was off the table.
I should have stayed up, but I retreated to my cocoon, my fuzzy blanket with microwaved corn pack for my feet. It was too late though, my feet were icicles. They consumed the heat without thawing…AND then I laid awake for FOUR hours. Cartoons chattered in the background. The husband was NOT on his side of the bed and at one point the cat jumped in his sleep. It was more of a hop, as if he was taking a leap in his dream and woke up mid-air as confused as we were.
I laid awake, some times with my eyes closed, sometimes open, but always with the blankets tucked up to my chin and thinking. Not thinking about what I should be writing in the morning or possibly what my characters are doing why I waste time trying not to freeze to death. Instead I was thinking about a different version of my life and me as someone else. Of a tumultuous, exciting freedom I have yet to attain. Of someone else. Driving myself to near madness with an unrequited hunger.
I slept in and besides typing this and washing my hair, I accomplished nothing before I returned to the nightshift.