Hello midnight, old friend

So here we are again. Half an hour ago Sunday became Monday. I’m sitting in the dark of the junk room with the remains of a cup of coffee, with the sound of my fingers on the keyboard keeping me company.

I just asked the Echo to play something nice. It chose Bach’s cello suite. The one that sounds like the cogs of the universe turning. I’m guessing if I say “next”, it will pull some Sibelius out of it’s backside.

I couldn’t resist it. Nope. More Bach.

I’m going to ask it to turn the room into a rainy late night jazz cafe instead. There’s something about quiet jazz in the early hours – especially while emptying my head. Much better.

I’ve been pretty much “out of the loop” this weekend.

I was invited out last night with my other half and a good friend for a drink or two, but remained non-committal when invited. I guess in my head I had seen their going out as a chance for them both to be away from their family for a few hours. I probably over-thought it.

So yeah. I’ve not really seen or interacted with anybody outside of my direct family all weekend. If you discount work conference calls, I’ve not seen anybody face-to-face for a couple of weeks.

It’s probably not a very healthy way to live, but here we are.

While writing blog posts, I almost imagine I’m talking to somebody that’s sitting across the room. A conversation with an unknown other. Of course it’s not a conversation though – more a monologue. Talking to myself. Probably not very healthy either.

Perhaps I should try to do something about it this week. Try to escape for a couple of hours. Find a friend for the end of the world. Oh – wait – that’s a movie, isn’t it (a really good one, if you’ve not seen it). Still. I really should – find somebody to empty my head with. I haven’t really had that for a while.


It’s late o’clock. I’m going to go read for a bit. I’ve been picking my way through Stephen King’s “On Writing” book. It’s fascinating – full of interesting bits and pieces. And yes, this does mean I’m probably inching my way towards writing the first words of a novel. Possibly. Maybe.

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