Kitty Angst

I want to write, but I don't know what. I want to be, but I don't know how. Kitty angst is my term for that restless wanting that seems to have no source or cure. Or, put another way, it's when the cat has been pet, fed, watered, let in, let out, let in, let out, and still the meowing continues. Sometimes I get kitty angst. I am going to try and not reflect too much on the purpose of this post (or, for that matter, this blog) and just write. I felt a definite urge to write today, not to create, but just write, document. I think that is a good thing. I haven't been writing much lately, and this urge was removed from a focus on product. I was watching the starlings in the bare tree top, against the backdrop of a dark grey cloud, listening to them chatter, and I wanted to pick up my pen and write longhand in my notebook with red cover. Dive for cover. Cover me. I am censoring a little, self-editing. I love the backspace key. I just realized I had a little (very little) present I forgot to give my mom. I was thinking I'd go into work tomorrow, catch the van at 7:30 and actually go into the office. But then I thought again and couldn't really think of a good reason to go into the office when I could work from home. Next week normality, or something like it, will resume. People will be back to work in the office, including my boss and my friend David, and I will go in and work from my desk instead of home from my bed. For now, I guess I will retire to bed, hopefully to sleep, to lose myself in dark sleep and maybe vivid dreams.