I'm just home from work. It's late - or early, depending on how you look at it - and the last vestiges of my mind are very much awake. Driving at night in a spattering rain has a way of waking one up to things: the copper hues of streetlights off the wet pavement, odd images of ghost-cars between the settled mists... and a strong desire to put my shoes back on and head out into the fog and the downpour and just revel... if nothing else, I have at least all the impracticality of a writer

Yet in me, these impracticalities must still be coupled with the pragmatism of the nurse. My back hurts and I must sleep. Blustery nights are well and good for brooding, and for atmosphere, and for deep knowledge of the darkness of self and life - but there is more of redemption in the dawn, in the waking and looking forward to a new day. Tea and writing and reading and pondering and all of the above with even more tea... and after tomorrow comes Sunday, and that day will dawn brighter still.

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