I seem to be awake more; the hours between 2 and 5 a.m. spent with my eyes wide open, reluctant to lose the luscious warmth of my quilt, yet brain on overdrive.
Oh, well. I used to punch the pillows and toss and turn, and now I take the time to dream, dream big and well, to touch the soft contours of my body in thankfulness, and not worry about it.
I am wearing boots, leather that smells good boots, and a red sweater. I am on Oprah, and even in my daydream I blush, because I am being vain. She interviews me about my latest book, and gushes over my metaphors and deep mysticism.
I blush again, knowing that is all crap and all I want to do is tell stories, and make enough money to travel about like a Celtic fairy and tell more stories.
I laugh at myself, liking the boots and red sweater, and fall back asleep, right on cue, at 5 a.m.