It’s been a long day.
I woke up early to the sound of little fingers tapping on the keys of my old typewriter on the other side of the wall.
My bedroom wall.
At 5:30 in the morning.
I love his enthusiasm. He started typing a story on my dad’s typewriter on Sunday afternoon, Star Wars soundtrack blaring. Apparently he fell in love with the typewriter because he cleaned his whole room (one of those things that never has happened on his own) in order to get mine (which has been collecting dust for a very long time).
I will say, even this morning person was not thrilled to hear the tapping at that hour.
It’s past the kid’s bedtime and I’m exhausted from a long day. I am enjoying hearing him type at this hour. Probably more than I should because he needs to go to bed. He has a thought he doesn’t want to lose and I know how that feels.
I also know how I feel right now.
I’m proud of him and his excitement and his drive to tell this story.
I can hardly wait to see what he writes.