I do not like to put a space between the can and not of cannot.

I am in the sort of mood to be quiet and read Jane Austen novels, the sort of mood to twist my hair up and secure it with a pen. Naturally, I should be drinking tea. And eating apple crisp. In bed, with flannel sheets and a big down comforter. Also, my dog should be curled up at the end of the bed, not smelling of dog.

Instead, I am blogging. And punctuating fragments as sentances. Soon, I will get between normal cotton sheets and blankets and pretend I am sleeping. I will not be. I'll accidentally kick my iron footboard, and it will bang against the wall, interrupting the quiet, which is the only part of my plan that will actually be carried out tonight. I'll get thirsty and sip from the waterbottle on the floor next to my bed, in the shoebox with all of my pills. I will shut my door to keep the dog out, because if I let her in she would only make noise and smell.

Good night.