The squirrel night light on my desk is judging me. The bunny holding a coffee cup that sits atop my pen, is looking at me with scorn. Even the stuffed dog, with the missing ear, my daughter has had since first grade stares at me with disdain. 

Everywhere I look there are objects reflecting my own guilt back at me. Not all of them have eyes. Some of them are books that sit unopened and collect fine particles of dust. There's a box in the corner with three layers of packing tape securing the seams that might hold something important. It's not happy with me either. Just like the curtains that lay under the window next to the unopened curtain rods.

While I write this, I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the computer screen. I look pretty pissed at me too. It's so easy to do nothing. To say you'll get to it later. To say, it can wait. Then that waiting stretches and its been so long you have to change the batteries in your clock. 

I think it's time for me to do something. I think its time to do what needs to be done. I think it's time to say what I think, to take action and finish what I started.

It's time to write some more. 

...and do more edits. 

Or sleep.

Sleeping is good.

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