I feel flat.
I should know better by now, in all my vast blogging experience, that post-midnight blogging is dangerous and leads to the spilling of secrets better kept tucked safely away. But as I can't even formulate an interesting thought, let alone a scandalous one, I think my secrets will stay safe for tonight.
The mind is an amazing thing. When I most depend on it, it abandons me completely. Instead, at the most inappropriate times, it manages to turn a seemingly innocuous road of thought barren of any overhanging branches of intrigue or romance into a brambly path of doubt, a breathless well of anticipation, or even a misty field of unfairly expropriated glamour.
Am I talking of my mind...
or my heart?
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