Some mornings, my thoughts greet me at the door like an excited large fluffy dog, licking and jumping all over me before I can open my eyes, leaving drool all over the page.
Other mornings, they tiptoe in like a cat on quiet soft pads, slyly approaching and rubbing against my legs before finally jumping into my lap where it sits purring lovingly all across the page.
Then there are the mornings where my ideas are like my bearded dragon lizard that has found a good hiding nook. I go room to room calling out to no avail. I look under the tables, sofas and chairs. I pull out the couch and move the large Amazon box that arrived last week (the one filled with that thing I just had to have – but now I know not what's even in there.) I look behind my planters and inside my closets. Finally, I see the tip of its tail sticking out from behind a shelf. I grab it and drag it out with its claws scraping the floor. The cold blood that runs through him has paralyzed him motionless. He lays there waiting for me to put him under a light so he can warm up and come alive and finally fill my page.
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