i've had butterflies* in my stomach all night. dunno why. there really isn't a reason. maybe the air feels a little electric. as though a thunderstorm was building. the feeling is very midwestern. not something i associate with summer in california. but the last several summers we've had them. crickets are loud just outside the window. a dog keeps barking a few houses down. the fan is running itself ragged.
i can't sleep.
last night i chased sleep back and forth. looking for the cool spot. turning the pillow over and over. a spider was hiding under there. a little one. a grass spider. crawled across my arm. i don't mind spiders so much. i try not to kill them if possible. but this one startled me. and i swatted him across the room. he landed in my bookshelf somewhere. i didn't turn on the lamp or otherwise investigate. maybe he'll set up housekeeping. eat moths that find their way into the dark air behind the books.
the dog is barking again. i should time the intervals the way people do thunderclaps and lightning. maybe barking at decreasing intervals foreshadows the approach of wakeful dogs. then the dogs are directly over the house. then they move away. and the interval increases. slowly but surely. or do i have it backwards? i can never remember.
oh. now it's gone quiet. and the dogs are barking above a house five miles to the north. or the east. depending. i don't know which direction the wind is blowing. or even if there is one. the weather. who can tell?
i rarely write fiction. but i sort of want to right now. it must be the insomnia. and abject** boredom. i'll probably give up and read someone else's fiction. the normal course of things.
*i accidentally typed this as "bitterflies" at first. which is quite the opposite of what i felt at the moment.
**really mcmullen? can boredom be abject? isn't the state of boredom already at its lowest? i say.