"And mug in the middle of each tray..." ~ Jane Eyre

Tonight I am drinking cinnamon hot chocolate. I take big gulps and small sips intermittently out of this red mug and think about my soul. I want my soul to always be like this mug of chocolat. Rich, spicy, warm. I am trying to keep myself awake so I can watch the film Waitress, which I have been longing to do, but the cocoa is making me sleepy. Does that mean my soul is sleepy, too? I cannot go to bed yet since I need to do the following: finalize the cookie recipes for this week, check my work email, douse myself in body lotion, and read sections of the Times online since I didn't get my paper today. My soul always has things to do - it is a neverending list of one passion after another. I got an idea for a series of short stories this week after days of formulating it in my mind. I am hesitant to put them down on paper, lest I become too attached to the words and want them published. I wonder how many artists are out there with great work that will be unknown because they are too timid, like myself, to even attempt trying to show their work with the public. I have listened to Beethoven's Ninth three times this early evening and think about excuses. He was deaf and still wrote so his music could be heard by the world. What excuse to I have? I am too busy drinking hot chocolate?