MIdnight, and the witching hour is upon us. The house would be quiet but for the clock that steadily marks the seconds off to my left. That and the cat behind me.
Sonja, like myself, is a night owl. Right now she is engaged in the process of aligning herself along some meridian only she knows about that, somehow or other, runs through Dick's office chair. That's the only explanation I can come up with for the production she makes of settling herself down on it.
She sleeps there part of the night. Cat naps more like. Frequently during the night she goes downstairs to snack. And then back to the chair. However, that is not where she is to be found in the morning. Where she spends the remainder of the night remains a mystery.
This mystery is already eight years old.
Me? I'm typing. I'd say writing but the writing's written. I'm in the transfer from page to screen phase of the writing process. And the Internet beckons, and my blog beckons, as does email, as does iTunes and so on.
This is why I write on paper. The only "click" involved there is the cap on my fountain pen.
But this is a "school night" so I had better save what I'm typing, back it up to the cloud and turn in. The weekend is a better time for padding about in the dark.
