It’s Friday the 13th. Or at least, it was.
It’s currently 1am on what is now the 14th of January, but that’s only a technicality. For posterity’s sake, let’s pretend it’s still Friday the 13th, and that I’m still adhering to my writing challenge.
I’m here in bed, fighting my eyes from crossing, making so many typos that I’m not sure I’ll make it through this one. Goodness, I am exhausted.
Friday the 13th. A day for the witchy folk. The wind got the message, and has been howling outside, lashing at the windows and threatening to push its way through the cracks so that it can pull at my clothing and whistle in my ears.
I was meant to meet with witchy folk today, not the cauldrons and spells kinds, only the kinds who make magic with music and movement. But none of us followed up. I was busy on ladders doing manual labor. The others were surely busy with their own lives, whether it be in the demanding worlds of parenting or professional dedication.
Typical, really. One just messaged me to ask if I’m still up for a phone call. We’ll talk tomorrow. We always say that.
I’m exhausted. I can’t type straight. My eyes are crossed and my thumbs won’t work- I was too tired to pick up my laptop, and thought I would write on my phone. It’s taking me ages to type these few words, and I don’t think I can go any further.
New habits are required to help me keep up with this challenge. This simply won’t do as is.
The wind is screaming now outside my window, sounding for all the world like a banshee. Good. We need a good feminine wind out here, the kind that will strike fear into your heart and inspiration into your soul.
It’s time for sleep.
