Good Morning

Her eyes snap open and she thirstily gasps in the cold air, as she takes in her surroundings, trying to convince herself it really is just her bedroom.  Smuggling deeper into the warmth of the sheets, she gently nudges away the tiny body that has wrapped itself around her and tries to drift back to sleep, but the moment her eyes close she feels them.  Those legs--all eight of them--are on her again.

She sits up, scratches her head and shudders.  Hands shaking, heart pounding, she again, fumbles around in the darkness. Her whole night had been a blur of fitful, broken sleep.  Thoughts that wouldn't turn off--

Oh! And this could be interesting to post.  Or maybe some old work stories.  Or there's that thing about my husband.

--unsure if the source was too much coffee or some long walled creative dam finally bursting and spilling out, a million drops overwhelming her at once.  When the screaming in her head subsided, when sleep was finally found, there were dreams. So many dreams, dirty and horrible and amazing and so full of color that being dragged from them was physically painful.  And with the most recent, the night was over.

Guess I'm getting up, she thinks. 

Fully awake and vaguely aware of exactly how cold the house is, she grabs a blanket.  The thoughts start again.

Update!

I could--

That phone call!

Or--

Maybe...

Her mind races as she tries to settle on one thing, the one thing that this morning will bring.  Her mind doesn't wander, it charges.  It charges from one idea to the next. But as she pees, it slows and pulls back.  As she brushes her teeth, it retreats a little more.  She approaches the computer.

Ah, fuck it.  I think I'll have a bowl of cereal.