Dear long day,
I'm not sure why you seemed so long, when you started with a lovely, light-filled breakfast with daughter and granddaughter.
Maybe it was the not quite enough sleep I got last night.
Maybe it's that all the tasks yet to be done loom.
Maybe it's that by the time I left work it was dark, and it was cold.
Maybe it's that it's now 11:22 p.m., and I am still working. Maybe that's why.
Maybe it's because tomorrow promises to be a long day, too.
Long day, I am not done with you yet.
Or maybe, maybe it's that you're not done with me.
Are there enough minutes left in you, long day, to allow me to write 300 more words, so I can feel my work as a book reviewer is complete.
I guess we'll see, and I guess you win, but no one says I have to like it, long day.
Because I don't,