I have not been sleeping well of late. Instead of my usual seven hours solid, I have been having semi-sleep, mostly dominated by murky remembrances of past stupidities and current worries. Yes, I am a world-class fretter, especially about things I can't do anything about.
I had extreme night fears as a child and teen-ager--my bedroom was located in the front of the house, away from the others, the windows were usually wide open, and the nighttime breezes would gently billow the lightweight curtains out toward my bed like unwinding gravesheets. Yes, my imagination worked overtime. To distract it, I told myself stories.
Obviously, if I ever want to sleep well, again, I must get started on that new romance plot.
Gotta get cracking on the new plot,
And when Fio writes romance, she writes hot--
To knock those ghosts right out of her head,
She's gotta think of sex instead.
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