I am a bad bloggeress. -hangs head in shame- In my defense, I would post more regularly if I had a following.... Hint, hint. Comments would be appreciated. Just something to let me know there's a reason to continue.
Now, to the continuing.
I love writing late at night. There's an energy as well as an openess that comes when darkness falls and you have some modicum of privacy. It's easier for me to speak my mind, to a degree--the words flow easier. There's an illusion of safety in the silence that says it's okay. Whatever you want to say is fine. It's not enough to break down my walls entirely--I don't think I'll ever speak without thinking or choosing my words carefully--but it thins them, so that a few more things than usual can pass my guard and slip through, onto paper or into the air.
Peanut is staring at me with thoughtful brown eyes as I type. I just read an article about a book in which a woman looks into the psyche of dogs and directly discourages anthropomorphizing, but I can't help it--maybe I want her to be regarding me thoughtfully. I like the company. I like the idea that her thoughts might be running on something akin to mine.
This is called projection--we learned about it in Psychology. Doesn't change the fact that I think my dog knows more than she's saying. Just because you really want to see something doesn't mean it isn't there.
And with that, I'll make my exit for the night, before my free-running brain spews off even more psychobabble to scare off what few readers I have. Night, all.
Your humble scribbler of thoughts, both reasonable and not,
Marcie
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