Last night I crawled into bed at 4 a.m.
I'd just settled in, taken a deep breath, and prepared to slip into oblivion when I heard voices. The conversation was so clear it could have been taking place next to the bed. A ghost and a certain witch were talking about a scarf with little yellow owls on it.
To be polite, I would say I was frustrated. My mind needed to shut down. Didn't these characters know that I had worked until 4 and needed my sleep or NO ONE was going to get any page time the next day?
I was just about to scream at them to SHUT. UP. But I realized in that moment I would be stupid not to start taking notes. (I have a problem with regrets of omission. Can't stand them. Avoid them at all costs.)
So I reached for the notepad on the night stand. I'd jot down a few reminders, but that was all they were going to get. Unfortunately, I knocked everything on the floor searching for a pen that wasn't there.
With an angry growl my husband never noticed, I climbed out of bed and stomped to the office, turned on the light and powered up a still-warm computer.
So. This morning, when I crawled into bed at 5 a.m., I had a clear picture in my mind of a Highlander named Wyndham, why he is obsessed with a scarf covered in little yellow owls--and the young woman who wore that scarf--twice upon a time.
About the room...
There are a number of rooms in my head. Behind one, there is a gnarly table covered with thick open books. If I close those and tuck them away on the shelves, my thoughts become less cluttered. I can focus on whatever is left on the table.