Day 11 of Poetry month–this little ditty is what I like to refer to as a prose poem–
I sit in my red chair (in a corner of the room)
Curled up with a blanket over my legs (an unlikely position for someone my age)
Inhaling popcorn and sipping diet ginger ale (wishing it were full on calorie laden cola)
Watching reruns of West Wing (feeling slightly guilty as it is an American program and I am a red leaf flag waving Canadian)
Conversation hushed (but existent—we do not watch TV in perfect silence)
Time for bed (not before I drink my new concoction of magnesium citrate)
Climb the stairs (to the bathroom and do night-time ablutions)
Crawl into bed and read (until book hits me in the face or I drop my mini Kobo)
Wake up, turn off light, pull covers up, go back to sleep, shutting down the noise that is my brain.
How do you end your day?