Can’t go to sleep until I write a blog post. I could write about the soup I made today: adzuki beans, frozen spinach, and broth made from pork hocks.

I could write about the mess of boxes on my living room floor, the mess of paper to be sorted.

I could write about this weather, warm enough again to leave my London Fog pea coat at home.

I could write about how I read the first six books of Narnia in a week, and how I’m still not finished The Last Battle.

But all of those are longer stories than I have the energy for tonight. I don’t often feel my age, but I’ve been feeling very 37. I was in bed at 8:30, and I just want to go to sleep.