I can't sleep. The sound of the night is creeping into my head. It won't let me rest, and now I'm out of bed. My Christmas tree is lit red this year, and the tree smells beautiful at night. I have somehow given into writer's block. I keep trying to tell myself that the anxiety of the Holidays are keeping me from adding to my work in progress. My characters are on vacation.
Christmas time is an anxious time for me. I am 32 years old now, and I still expect Santa to come to my house in the middle of the night, like he did when I was 3 years old. Yes. I do have a mind of my own, and a great memory to help me remember the details.
I wish Santa would come in and have a chat with me.
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It is what it is and that's all it will ever be.
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