As much as I want to write a great post tonight, I can't. I have to go write a summary on stress granules and Processing bodies. Yay. :-| So this will be a short but sweet one.
I need to write more other than complaining. So now for your reading enjoyment, a short story... or a short part of a short story.
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The sky was inky black. Aside from the faint glow of the street lamps. It made it look almost like a charcoal drawing, with extra color from pastels added into the scene.
The protagonist of our story stepped out into the warm fall and made the brief observation that it was certainly warm for November. What to do next? To the library for a brief jaunt through the periodicals section for an article, then home to some food... or to the store to buy more food... or what else she didn't know. She just new that after standing all day, and trying desparately to focus on what her hands were doing, she wanted to allow her mind to wander aimlessly. To let her mind call the shots and to cause her fingers to dance gingerly over the keys and let out the thoughts that, like her, had been trapped inside all day - away from the light, hidden in the basement, and kept away from the world. Perhaps allowing them to spill would lighten the load and free her focus to accomplish the things she was required to do (not necessarily NEEDED to do, because that might imply she would rather be doing those things than anything else...).
She stepped out. And let her mind wander with her feet.
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