Another day of staring at the screen, the cursor flashing expectantly, like a pulse beating. I’ve been awake since 4am, worked at 5am and finished work early. Shortly after 10am, I am home, with the day ahead of me. There are tasks to be done: dishes to wash, laundry to do, and of course, there is the writing. ‘I’ll blog first…and then work on some essays’, I think to myself. The possibility of a productive period stretches out before me, and yet I can not concentrate. I wander from room to room, standing in doorways and looking into the space, my expression blank and my intentions dwindling.
Exhaustion takes hold of me, and the unmade bed looks inviting. I wish to sleep but am usually incapable of napping. My husband on the other hand is a champion, Olympic level napper, and can easily close his eyes and drift off for hours. Occasionally I will lie down first, and Ben will follow. And then, as if by magic he will be snoring quietly, blissfully unaware of his wife scowling beside him. But today, like dipping a toe reluctantly into unfamiliar waters, I lay down in the cool sheets. Light creeps in through the blinds, and when the vent below blows air, they flicker in the sunshine and create this technicolor dance of pinkish hues. My mind refuses to relent, to accept sleep, but I close my eyes anyway, and begin to feel myself falling like a feather floating from a great height. And I sleep…for three delicious hours. Not bad for a certifiable non-napper. When I awoke, I wandered through the house once more, looking at all that needed to be accomplished, inching closer and closer to the room where the laptop is. Though I am rested, my mind feels fuzzy, unfocused. And so I write about not much, only of the good fortune to have mid-morning nap. Not exciting, but this is all I am capable of today.