In my head, that is. Can't sleep.
Our door chime went off and the husband woke me to ask me if I heard it (I didn't, you know, since I was asleep) and now he, after diligently checking the locks, has been resting peacefully for the past hour, sleeping the half-drunken, Friday night sleep of the well-accomplished father and businessman while I have lain awake, suffering the insomnia of the prolific.
My thoughts tumble at night when I'm unable to sleep. They play in green pastures, leap from high treetops, and dig black holes in my psyche. I'll attempt to corral them here, while drinking some hot decaf tea.
The keyboard is loud in a sleeping house.
I got my first real rejection today from a real magazine. The editor thought the piece was funny, however it didn't fit current needs. Please submit again. It was not a form letter but more a personalized email, which was nice. I told a friend recently, "I'm a writer. I got all the rejection I can take in one life." I was a much happier writer before I decided to let people read me. But a happy writer is a --the midnight brain fails-- ah, yes, an oxymoron. However, this rejection made me happy because the editor wasn't an asshole about it, and because it reminded me that I have actually sent some things out. I'm doing something. Ask me after ten of them though; I probably won't be so happy.
My dog met all our friends tonight at our little Friday Night get-together. She did wonderfully, and our fence is finished (almost said done, but can't resist a little alliteration) so she runs about like a happy jack-rabbit. The kids swarmed her, the mommies loved on her, and the dads threw her ball. Happy dog. She, too, is sound asleep.
Yesterday was the one year blogiversary for this blog. In the past year, I've:
Decided upon the level of seriousness about my writing. Gotten a dog. Finished another book. (Remember, I'm prolific, but not good, according to my contest entries.) Been as strong as I've ever been physically, and then slipped a bit. Another month or so and I ought to regain what was lost... Made friends with Greg, enough so that we sometimes take each other a bit for granted. That makes us good friends, actually. Submitted my second book.
That doesn't look like much. I'm sure there's more (For the love of Christ, I hope there's more) but I'm blank. After all, it is 4 am. My tea is gone and my brain might be sleepy again.