Had terrible dreams and woke up at 4 a.m. for no good reason. What the hell. Am trying to put the time to good use. Spent fifteen minutes salivating over a garden catalog, which I then regretfully threw away -- much as I would like tuteurs and trellises, this season, I need to concentrate on shrubs and perennials. If I build any structures, it will be raised beds for a vegetable garden. The pretty structures can come later -- and aside from the dahlias, I'm not even sure what's going to need staking anyway. I completely failed at foxglove and delphinium last year -- will take another stab this year and hope for better results.
Made some tea, went back to work on a story for Kristina Wright's Best Erotic Romance anthology. I've never actually tried to write a romance before -- figured it was worth a shot, for the practice, if nothing else. It ended up more autobiographical than I'd planned, but I think that's okay. Just half a scene left to the finish, I think -- a productive start to what will hopefully be a good day, after a weirdly awful night.
They spoke in whispers in the darkened room. Her voice thin and breaking, his too-composed, a sharp edge under the deliberate calm.
Sarah whispered, "She's almost a year old. A year! Didn't they say it would only take three months?" Gwen was finally asleep on her shoulder, but Sarah knew that any attempt to place the child horizontal would result in renewed howls. It was two a.m.; they'd been doing this for hours. They'd taken turns waking at first, but this last time, Adam hadn't been able to get Gwennie back to sleep until Sarah came up and took her. Sarah paced now, back and forth in the tiny nursery. Stopping was dangerous.