Life has led me here. Charlotte climbed down the steps from her bunk bed, and went downstairs to the kitchen. The dog circled and collapsed by our bed. Outside, the wind kicked up and the rain came on.  I reflected on work, then let it pass. All was otherwise quiet in the house at quarter past nine. In no way did it feel like Friday should be here, but soon it would be. I imagined myself at the end of the day driving home, and felt a tingle inside. There was no more to think or worry about, and I slipped off in a dreamless sleep with no remembrance of the day.

Categories: prose, writing

Tags: creative nonfiction, journal writing, postaday, short form, William Pearse writer