Friday, November 3, 2017

Someday.

(Quinn in her "little bed" which is a blanket on our bedroom floor that she ends up on almost every single night. Sleeping issues are the real deal.)

All I want to do is write something beautiful and meaningful that makes me excited and proud but it's been a long, long day and even now that the girls are in their room Quinn is screaming about how she doesn't like her bed (the ice cream sheets she picked out herself), is scared of the dark (we keep the light on for just this reason), and is not really tired (bull). I wish she would just roll over and close her eyes or even take a long blink because I know that's all it would take and she would be outta here, but instead she wills herself to wakefulness and cries me right to a straight jacket. I have my own cold dinner still to eat, a mountain of dishes to wash and laundry to fold, the boys just broke their closet light and are fighting over who was at fault and here I sit, alone at the dining room table, willing reality to step aside for just a moment so that I can rendezvous with the keypad. It's not happening tonight, I'm afraid, for how does one pen a brilliant piece when one doesn't even have the energy to re-heat their dinner? Someday is the song that I keep singing in my head. The kids will sleep. The house will be clean. There will be energy and time to write. Someday, someday, someday.

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