Awake and.... Anxious? 12:45am
It's late.
I finished reading Fifteen Dogs by André Alexis, and it feels like a hole sits within the pit of my throat.
I wasn't feeling up for doing much at all besides reading so me and my wife got takeout. I ate most of a personal sized pizza, and I'm not sure how much my wife ate of her mozzarella sticks and her chicken parm sub... My wife was also very focused on crocheting footballs today, after work.
I hear the sound of a firetruck in the distance, zooming by the window, along our quiet main street. I wonder how badly something's gone - Something imperceptable to me, but that exists outside of my senses nonetheless.
My wife sleeps soundly beside me now. She's so, so warm, but I worry about my cold feet accidentally touching her, that I might wake her from her light sleep.
Two cats have joined us as well, laying at our feet.
It's cold. 65°F cold. My wife likes this. Sometimes a cold this intense feels difficult to escape, admittedly. When I finish writing this, I'll surely dare to cover my hands underneath the blanket, along with my cold nose.
I only hope the cold and the slowly accumulated heat underneath the bedsheets might lull me eventually to a deep sleep.
For now, I type on a screen.