Hello friends! A bit tired tonight and thinking that perhaps my energy and mood are more suited for reading than writing. Alas as I was hoping tonight would be a night I could really open up a bit and just be random in my creativity (or lack thereof). As it turns out, do I really want to write? Not sure that I do. Or perhaps my energy is a bit sapped and I just need recharging. No walk today, as I have a pot of bolognese simmering and while future me (about 24 hours from now) will be very happy to be eating a lovely dinner of bolognese over pasta, current me is a bit sad that the aforesaid pot simmering situation has kept me in the apartment all afternoon and now evening and so no walk at all. Le sad. I think that when I walk and am surrounded by the glory of the day and various people going about their day, I feel that energy and beauty and it puts me in such a good place for writing. Does this mean that I can’t summon up internal energy and the muse if I do not have something from the external? Apparently this is a thing.

And really, what am I writing now? A lot of nothing. It happens to the best of us I suppose, so I shall not let it dim my mood too much. After all, I have a book I can sink back into, the apartment is lit charmingly with the lamp at the end of the couch, and I have a beautiful classical playlist on the TV just now. This is a night in which I can rest and so can I truly complain? I think not. And who knows? Maybe in a few minutes I’ll pull this laptop back out and finger the keys and see where my thoughts take me. The night is young after all.

Peace and love, my friends. Peace and love.