his black shirt cries while his shoes get cold

I finally finished up my work about 30 minutes ago, two hours later than I usually stay awake. My whole body hurts from sitting here, and I've entered that weird place where I'm too tired to stay awake, but also too tired to fall asleep.

Though it used to be a common part of my routine, and it's how I wrote Dancing Barefoot and the first draft of Just A Geek, it's been a long time -- maybe even a year -- since I stayed up this late to write.

The silence in the house, broken only by the ticking of the clock in the kitchen and the occasional rumble of trucks passing on the freeway, isn't as soothing and peaceful as I remember it.

Tonight, that silence is lonely and oppressive. Everything feels heavier than it should.

I guess I should get in bed and stare at the ceiling for a few hours.