A Writer's Notebook, Day One-Thousand-Two-Hundred-And-Eighty-Eight

I went out for a late dinner with a good friend tonight.  He left a little while ago and I began to do my writing for the evening.  I am a bit tired and chose to sit outside and write on my phone, rather than go up to my office as I usually would.  It is a quiet and warm evening, and I am enjoying being in the darkness alone.  I am glad to be finishing up, nonetheless, as I am tired and I have to be up pretty early tomorrow in order to get to an appointment.  I suppose I  should just finish this up and get to bed, but it feels rather silly to just write that and then do it.  I suppose that is not silly at all, though, not if I really consider it.

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