Late Night Haze

At this time of night, I get to the really deep questions. Like, Why is Jones soda so good? When will my cat stop nagging me? Where do old B movies go when it rains?

It occurs to me now that blogging is a very dangerous thing. I shall write a pittance and go to sleep.

~

The note book was new, but it had come a little shabby. You could see that a lot of people had picked it up and almost bought it. Ann picked it up too. It looked hand made. She flipped it over and saw the bar code. Perhaps the materials had faked her out. She opened the cover. The paper looked hand made and probably wasn't either. If the world was just, or even just exciting, when opened it she should have been sucked into another world.

If it could merely make her words and sketches float off the page to life, that would also be acceptable. Ann rubbed the black spine thoughtfully. The nubby texture of the paper felt good. She placed the book on the wrapping paper in a careful bump. "Thanks Mom."

Mom had a smile creeping out. Ann eyed her with reservations. "Thinking about laughing?"

"Oh, no. You seem underwhelmed with your present."

"Of course not. I'm just whelmed. Nothing under about it."

"...Just?"

Ann hesitated. "Well. It's just empty."

Mom reached out and tousled her head on the way through the door. "There speaks a girl who was buried in an avalanche of library books this summer." The maternal glance delivered sermon and homily in a three second look. "It's your book; you fill it."