Cold Feet

We always want the pleasure piece that most often, we cannot have.
​Like tonight, I went to bed exhausted, which always means I'm going to bed with cold feet. I mean, the house was cold, to be sure. So, I did what any normal person would do and layered my blankets fuzzy, down, fuzzy. I was cozied up. And then I woke up hot. So, I'm awake, blogging. Because humans are fickle. 
I found that after I kicked the blankets around for about 13 minutes and 24 seconds that if I took off the top blanket, kicked my leg out and wrapped the (cold) down blanket around the warm fuzzy one, placing the cool blanket against my legs and the hot blanket trapped somewhere in the down, that I was suddenly...just right. Exactly the opposite of where I had been two hours before. 
That's why I like writing. I can change my mind 18 different times, draft it out, erase it, rewrite it, and then draft it out again, only to cut that scene and write something completely different, and the shade of truth becomes a different shade of reality. 
Maybe I'm just delirious. 
It is 2 am, after all. 
When I wake up again, I have to get back to ripping off the veneer and finding out what's been crawling under the surface in order to get at what matters.  
In writing, it all matters. 

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