yes, of course!

A few weeks ago I’m sitting at my desk, typing away in front of my computer, the muse and I having a grand ol' time of fluency and inspiration, when my husband walks by and says: "Why are you working on another story? Why not finish the one you’ve started?"

I pause a moment within this reverie of creation, and reply with the only thing that comes to mind: "Well, Amy has the draft", and he says: "So, you can still work on it." Meanwhile, I’m thinking, well, of course I could still work on it, and I have worked on it since I printed out a draft for her, but somehow there just isn’t enough time to write anymore. Somehow, Thursday nights have become the only time I have for writing, and with the amount of sleep I’ve had since the last Thursday night it’s a wonder I’m even able to stand and drive and work and complete the basic functions and tasks necessary for my survival! For example, just that morning I was awoken at 3am by the voice of our daughter: “Maawm? Can you lay with me?”, so, up out of my nice, warm comfy bed and back onto her cold futon I went. I snuggled up close to her and attempted to place my body between the steel bars that lay beneath her futon mattress, and it must have worked because that morning my right hip did not feel as if there was a knife driving into its socket every time I took a step, and then once I was finally settled into the bed and finally warm beneath the covers and my mind was almost ready to drift back off to sleep, our son woke up, bumped his way out of the top bunk, switched on the hallway light and POOF! Our daughter was awake again and then I needed to be awake, but instead I rolled over and fell into the deepest sleep I had had all night! and then SURPRISE! The alarm was blaring, and since it’s one of those that gets louder as the seconds pass and the volume is set to 100, I really needed to get out of her bed and turn that damn thing off! and then I stumbled downstairs, hoping that I could stand up long enough to find my way to the bathroom and then stand up for a few more minutes to put some water into the kettle for my coffee cuz the house was freezing and there was no way I was drinking day old coffee, even if it would mean it’d be ready in a microwave minute, and our son says to me, even before I took the last step off the stairs: “I want french toast for breakfast!”

So, yes, dear, of course, I can finish the story, but can I go back to bed first? Please???