writing just makes me tired these days. all the work of organizing thoughts into sentences, I'd rather just lay down my head, let the words scatter out over my dreams and piece it back together in the morning.

5:02 a.m. I'm up before the anxiety. Light in the sky, but not enough put color into day yet. Just a few birds calling out their good mornings and I've already been in and out of the shower, thrown a load into the wash. Dog curled nose under paw and tail wrapped around, not quite snoring, beside me. All quiet from the bedrooms. Until I type all quite from the bedrooms and then, right on cue with the keystroke, a rolling over kind of sigh. Roxie narrates the night just like me. Talks out loud all through her dreams, but mostly just the bad ones. Lila's a quiet sleeper. Snugs her self in and once she drops off she barely moves again. These early morning birds are my favorite. Connection to the outside.With the high laural and the fence and no front of the house it's hard for the outside to make it's way into the place. Isolation. Makes it hard to hear myself.