Saturday Morning
I have nothing to say this morning, and yet I feel like talking. It’s early. Early-ish. For certain values of early that mean my flatmate is actually surprised to see me up and about before midday on a midday morning. I’m kicking it in my study, just killing time before some writer-peeps hit Skype for a conference call, and there’s natural sunlight spilling in through the gauzy white curtain on the window and it’s the kind of day that feels very fresh and new and yet, somehow, slightly lived in and comfortable, like the day is just a pair of jeans that have long been broken in. I’m compiling a to-do list for my weekend. There’s going to be some writing. Occasionally I whistle a few bars of the songs that run through my head. For some reason, right now, I’m fixated on the Misfit’s Astro Zombies, which is far more cheerful than any song about zombie exterminating the human race ever should