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The cat is sniffing at my writing hand because she’s bored and
doesn't have enough shelves to climb, allowing her power to surveil her lair.

Don’t know if I can do it.
Let go of my comfort zone.

Need groceries – and sleep. But there’s so much to do, so much
to say I just can’t get it down. Just keep flirting with words, no matter
how cliché – it’s still writing.

Cat’s whiskers tickle my forehead in the morning. Twenty minutes
before the ting-a-ling alarm on my phone starts – a prickly
feather is sniffing my cheek.

I love my cat and kids but damn why do they have to be so
amazing? (I meant annoying).
Falling asleep on baby’s pillow – her bottle’s in the fridge.

Jesus that music is too fast for a nocturne – maybe that’s the point?

Next: The Well-Tempered Clavier

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