My wife and the kids have gone to bed. I've settled down with my laptop, and iTunes is pumping Switchfoot's newest into my noggin ("You are golden / You are golden, child / You are golden / Don't let go / Don't let go tonight"). I have the laundry going so that I'll have clean underwear and towels tomorrow. My purpose is to sit down and do a nice stroke of work, a good little post, for my insomniac friend when she wakes up at 4 a.m. She'd like that, I think. I haven't written two sentences before I'm reclining next to my wife on an Antiguan beach, sipping beer, and watching elephants swim by.
6 comments:
You are THE Insomniac's Friend! Happily she slept through the night. God knew. Thanks for even trying.
If ever you have a choice between the beach with your wife and writing for an insomniac, choose the beach.
You are a really lovely, evocative soul, Scott.
Were you high when you wrote this?
Alison and Meg, my pleasure and thank you.
Jamie, no. Are you taking too many pain meds? : )
I deserved that! No pain meds here. I don't like taking them. They make me feel a little tummy sick, so I am just taking Aleve or Tylenol.
Ah, Jamie - I'm just messin'. It does sound like I'm a little high. : )
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