I am fascinated by how much a good night of sleep can change you and how settling a phone call can finally be. In ritualistic nature, I'm seated here in the middle kitchen chair with my morning's hot tea and sleep in my eyes. For the first time in a week I feel rested and blessed by the company of the sun.
I needed that quality shut-eye and the late call that finally arrived. I'm fairly certain that the lack of both was beginning to turn me into a fanged beast destined to wander the night in search of random prey...or more realistically, an intolerably pissed-off individual. Just to drive the point home and to revel in my reborn self, as I write these words I am smiling.
I continue to be unsure about the magazine. Part of my heart feels traitorous, but The Staff Sergeant has thrice now given the go-ahead. Last night's was the most convincing, and even still I waver slightly. I want it and with his encouragement, I'll pursue it. He says not to worry about stepping on [his] toes, so with cautious candor, I'll see where it goes. I'll offer the pen name for everyone's sake and I'll write about me, which I mostly do anyway. Let's face it, the readers don't want his details. They've got immeasurable lots of their own they are trying to know how to process. Why add to their pile? Why add to mine?
My eyes have become alert and my tea is cool enough to imbibe. I think I'm going to email the editor and take this possibility now to the next step.