Flying so High

My mouth tastes like Twizlers but that's not the point. No, not really.

It's one of those nights where the mind falls sideways into quiet corners of familiarity. Home seems so close. I think I should return. "I'm flying so high, high off the ground." Return home to idealized tranquility. Cool shadows under trees, secrets hidden under the covers, creeping through the hallway with a flash light towards a Lego castle. Hah, take me back again.

Give me a moment, I'll pull myself back after sending out the line. Today. Mark of import: I went with a crew to Schmidt's German restaurant in Columbus. I ate food and drank beer that brought back good memories. We talked and laughed, posed for pictures, and drove home. I was then listless and proceeded to play backup on guitar for Krista and Anna as they sang about a homicidal killer, aka Dexter. Random fun. The girls of Rivendarth were watching something on TV that killed my hope for humanity. I was fully reminded why I never watch television!

I'm off to bed; it's a safer place. Goodnight, moon!