Friday, January 7

Well Rounded

Can't sleep.

It's one of those nights.

Those nights where the hours don't seem to move.  The minutes tick by on tip toes.  The darkness deepens.

Unless I close my eyes.  And then it's a light-fest of thoughts, questions, and rapid fire synapses.

I could be catching up on housework.  (Would you?)

I could be watching soap operas.  (They don't sing, I wonder why it's called an opera?)

I could be writing the next best-selling novel.  (It's possible, right?  Write?)

I could be tossing in my bed, head on a pillow too hard and under blankets too warm next to a husband that sounds like a truck lives in his nostrils.  But I digress.  (To be fair, he's sick and the truck is louder than normal but it's not his fault.)

We've all got worries and woes, mine no bigger than yours, no more pressing, no more solve-able (or less).  My kids don't listen, there is never enough money to go around, school is about to start back up and I'm facing the prospect of being rampantly unavailable again.  Oh, and the puppy poops on the floor.  Ordinary.

It's only been five minutes. 

Can't sleep.

1 comment:

Pam said...

I vote for you writing the next best selling novel