It is time for bed. The door is closed, and my cat wants in, and then she wants out. When I let her out, she wants back in. Cats have never dealt well with closed doors, not on Broadway, and not tonight. I, meanwhile, am wondering how my star studded ceiling can melt so convincingly into the night sky, why the full moon’s glow is actually blue, and if the monster under the bed truly does exist. It is obviously. Time. For bed. It would be easier to sleep if there were not so many things standing still. If two of my major recent art projects weren’t on hold because of interesting (or really not so interesting) circumstances. It would be easier to sleep if everything – this blog, the two CD covers, and the two portraits – were completed and updated. As it is, the door is closed on me, too, and I don’t like it either. The night isn’t going to end until the projects are done. And it is so very much time for bed.