I have been working so much lately to have an actual twenty four hour period to myself was odd. It was literally that halting what should I do with myself feeling and I reveled in my lack of productivity. Sometimes doing nothing is the best something to be done.
I made love to a new novel (we spent so much time together in bed, we might as well have been lovers) and drank in the grey wetness of the day. When you don't have to be somewhere, when you don't have to be doing something in particular, hours just drip slowly by and I relished in it. I even delighted in looking at my calendar and noticing I didn't work before the sun tomorrow. Any more surprising delights and I might jump right out of the red lace that clothed me.
I glanced through old writings and remembered the Delilah Spell and smiled playfully over memories of illusions past. Some faded memories haunted in that icy, creepy goosebumps down your neck sort of way. But others merely lingered softly with confusing vagueness. And I was glad some things were written with disappearing ink so that chapters merely turned corners rather than slamming book covers shut. I even gathered something in my possessions that I thought should my path stumble with theirs I'd disclose the surprise.
Days continued revealing the unexpected and ever always that made me giggle at the thought of tomorrow. I hadn't had a PC or Mr. Dreamy sighting in more days than I cared to recall. But sooner or later some handsome stranger was bound to walk through those doors and this new chapter could begin its story.
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