I made a quick trip to the library today, and I might have been overly ambitious in my selections. Somehow, I ended up with an armload of books that I couldn’t bear to choose from, so I brought them all home. Craziness. I have about fifteen minutes a day to commit to reading- and that’s assuming I don’t drop the book in the tub. Oh come on- you know you are all out there reading your books in the bathtub, too. Don’t get all high and mighty “I only take showers” on me, and “I’d never take a book in the bathroom, that’s disgusting”. You lie. And my friend- lies make the baby Jesus cry, so you better stop. There’s no shame in the tub. No shame, I say! And if you stay in there, reading your James Patterson and Nora Roberts paperbacks till the bubbles are all gone and your fingers look like Granny’s, well all the better. You and I understand each other. We are kindred spirits.

Anyway, I am pumped about the books I got. And I am pumped that I am pumped about it. Because it means that I am finally starting to WAKE UP. There’s something about the pregnancy hormones that dulls my brain. It’s like smoke on a beehive… I become slow and uninterested, less prone to rouse myself to anything creative. As the smoke begins to clear, I perk up. I want to write again, read again, participate in the world. Make metaphorical honey and… metaphorically sting people? I don’t know. I could only make that analogy go so far.

But it’s a good thing, this coming awake again.

However, that’s all for tonight… no more waking or buzzing or bathing. I’m sleepy and off in search of cool sheets and dreams of bees. G’night, dears. See you in the a.m.

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