Lazy Thursday Night

It’s Thursday night and I am curled up in my lazy boy listening to my Ipod, specifically the new Bon Jovi album, and I write in my paper journal. There is something so empyreal about putting pen to paper in a tangible and old fashioned way. This feels like giving the craft of writing the appreciation it deserves.

I stop to take a drink of wine as the phone rings. I don’t answer. I let my answering machine pick up. It's someone I met at the wine bar and gave my phone number to. I was uninterested then and I am now. Hell, I am not going to call you, I think. I have had enough of all that bullshit. The message ends as he hangs up. I continue writing.

Paw Paws walks into the living room and plops down in front of the fireplace next to my chair. I reach down and rub his head and scratch his back. He is in ecstasy.

I look for purpose in my night and tell myself lies about how well I am doing.

I am alone and have to face myself in this condition. I'm going to put an end to this evening. I walk around to lock up the house and Paws wanders off to go peek out the front window to check out the neighborhood dogs. He's apparently seen something of interest as he his barking insistently. I'm glad he is coming out of his depression. He hates telling his friends that he is from a broken home and has been withdrawn lately. The stigma of it all. I call him to come to bed and he ambles faithfully beside me down a long hallway. We settle in.

Everyday, I say I am going to quit blogging. Everyday, I keep on writing. It's my word addiction. Until I am published, I know someone reads me. And yes, I had publishing doubts last night, but I have to keep it burning in order to get there. So I say the "P" word again tonight.

I find it odd that I share things on this journal with people I will never meet. I share things that I would never share with people in my actual life. It must be a product of my introverted personality trying to get out.