Sometimes I feel like Rapunzel in a duplex. I'll sit in my pink room and wait. Last night I lay in bed and listened to Through the Wormhole's Morgan Freeman discuss space and time as my Kindle slipped off my lap into a pile of fluffy linens. This time I'd flooded the porch in bright white light and lit candles and oil lamps all throughout my room so that when I woke up at 10:55, I wouldn't be so terrified.
This eve, I'll do the same. I just hope to have sweeter dreams.