I'm in the backyard swing, writing by the light of a string of multicolored twinkle lights I hung under the eves, many many full moons ago. A dog barks in the next block, perhaps he sees the noxious pestilential over there. Someone still has on their air conditioner even though the temperature is cooling off rapidly. Why do they do that? Better to open the windows and give me some peace and quiet.

Even though it's dark and almost time for bed, I'm afraid I'm too agitated to sleep, too dull of mind to read, and certainly not focused enough to do a crossword puzzle. So instead I meander on paper leaving purple ink as my trail and wonder about small things, while chastising myself for not doing something "productive", though what that would be at 9:30 at night, I haven't a clue.

What an unrelenting taskmaster lives inside my head! If I were an unbiased observer, I could call myself out for being such a meany to a poor peri menopausal woman who has already put in a full days work as the resident Domestic Goddess Extraordinaire.

Oh look, the moon.

It looks full to me.

Or as close as makes no difference.

But I still don't think I'm going to get to sleep much tonight.

Sigh.

** (Stinky stinky, in Pig Latin)