Today is a heavy writing day. I have at least six major stories to write to meet my September 16th deadline.
It's 4:30 a.m.
My brain went to bed happy, ready to sleep.
Then I kept having those kind of shampoo commercial dreams, where the beautiful, tall brunette woman is bounding in slow motion through a flowered meadow, arms open, right toward me.
I kept waking up smiling, only to find a fuzzy buff and white kitty lying next to me.
I finally gave up and got out of bed.
Never, ever, talk to a beautiful woman just before going to sleep.
Like eating Italian sausage and peppers right before bed, she will keep you from sleeping.
Oh, I'm not complaining, I am just awake is all.
Maybe this is all because of 9/11.
After I heard the lottery balls in NYC hit 9-1-1 on 9/11, I thought it was an omen.
Five thousand New Yorkers picked that number and won.
That night, after I'd seen all the coverage I could handle, I decided to turn it over to God.
Then something lifted, as if my own mourning had a beginning, middle and end.
The beautiful, blog reading shampoo ad woman asked me last night what exactly my politics were.
I was taken aback because she had to ask. I told her I was a liberal, left wing, yellow dog democrat.
That she wondered made me think of the war mongering, isolationist blogs I've been doing over the last year. I don't want war, not now, certainly not with this president.
That she called the night after 9/11 may have been an omen of happy emotions conquering angry ones.
I've always been lucky on Friday the 13th.
Maybe that's why I woke up so early, to suck in all the luck.
Did I mention how beautiful she is?