Outside Influence

The cats are sleeping on the living room table, stretched out in front of the fan side by side, as if they almost like each other enough to be in such close proximity. But I know it's only the fan that keeps them amicable, right along with the heat induced laziness that leaves them with little desire to move.

And I am feeling like my cats. Drained and exhausted from a night with more dreams than sleep, and the bits of leftover stress from the borrowed box of Pandora, whose contents have spilled over into my own small household.

Upstairs the children play, happy enough to be some small annoyance to the other, as their furtive whispers filter down the stairs. And I should be worried. Where there are whispers there are plans, and where there are plans there are ideas that usually turn out badly. Nevertheless, I'm letting them play undisturbed in order to give my mind the mental break it so desperately desires ...

And it desires it desperately, as desperately as it now desires sleep even though I've much to do and more to come tomorrow.