Last night was a good-mood kind of insomnia, I was creative and fun and wrote a lot, not that much ended up coming of it. Tonight isn't so great. I'm really cranky and starting to think about hitting myself over the head really hard just so I can get some rest.
Tonight, I'm thinking about the reptile complex and that horrifying second when someone lets theirs show and you see the instinct to take and take that seems to drive some people, and you wonder if somehow it is somewhere in you as well. In one of Laurie King's books, Sherlock Holmes says that all murders are essentially self-defense as people defend themselves against poverty and insecurity and such.
Kids who are abused permanently bear scars and decades later are often still letting reactions to that abuse drive their behavior. It's one of those nights were I feel like all of humanity has psychic scars from the hunting and gathering years, and we're still fighting caveman fears of not having enough.
Some nights I believe it, sometimes the idea that all of the world's institutions are run by taking and fear seems very real.
It's starting to seem like a good time to run out to that all-night Kinkos and print up the invitations to a baby shower I'm throwing. Our-Hero-Charlie-the-Vanquisher's daughter Victoria is due in early September. The kid is still in utero, and I know how strong my feelings for her are already.
Victoria will come into this world pre-loved, one more generation evolved away from the cavemen.
Good luck, Kiddo.