Up too late again. Can’t find the muse. Still just this side of midnight. Plenty of time.

What a long, sucky day. Hate Mondays. Too much Garfield. Mondays are always mean to me.

If it was such a long freakin’ day, what am I doing awake long after everyone else is asleep?

I’ve taken care of them, fed them, cleaned their messes, tucked them in with a kiss.

Must read story tomorrow night. Something from Arabian Nights. Wonder how Grimm is doing tonight? Do I dare?

Nah, stick to Disney right now. They’re still young. How young was I when I found the blood and witches of fairy tales?

Poor Dad, thought I was bad. Wonder if my childhood interests scared him? Or was it the thought of his brother’s artistic blood, the genetic make-up that came from someone else, that was hiding in him and coming out in me?

My uncle died poor and alone and still naive.

What morbid thoughts for just before sleep.

Glass of wine brings warm fuzzies. Maybe it will lighten the mood.

Noise from outside.