Most nights, not tonight
Most nights, sitting alone in my brightly lit office, the world outside in darkness, working, writing, reading, I am as close to centered as I typically get.
Not tonight.
Tonight, I'm ready to crawl out of my skin, itching for sad songs and fight songs and long drives and hard fights, the kind that leave you bloody and glad to be alive. I'm not angry, or, rather, I'm no more angry than usual. I'm more sad than normal, but not by much. I'm just full to bursting, my body crammed with more emotion and more different emotions than it should be able to hold.
This kind of night is a very good time for me not to venture into the world.
So, though the allure of driving fast at night calls to me, I'm going to spend these wee hours inside, in bed, reading, thinking, centering.