Another day , gone. . .

It is 9:10 and I am exhausted. Meant to write in my journal. Meant to write down short story ideas. Meant to read up on point of view. Still drinking coffee that slogging around in a big steel tumbler. coffee is my trigger to work. The idea goes like this: if I brew it , I wil write. No. wrong again. I brewed the coffee. Set my notebooks in front of me. Decided to see what Nancy Grace was ranting about tonight. End of story.
I am going to rinse out the tumbler and go to bed.
Once I'm there, a bit hyped on caffeine, all manner of ideas will come swooshing through my brain. My mind will be active , but I'll be too tired to reach for a pen.

Tommorow. Yep, that's it.