Supah Novah...zzzzzzz

When I’m tired, it shows. I don’t have bags under my eyes resembling Hugh Hefner’s ball sack (thank you, Crazy Stupid Love for that line, crud from a movie so crazy sexist it was: Stupid), but I miss things, like windows in which to write. Today, for instance, while the house napped and the rain made its oh-so-rare-and-pleasantly-quaint falling pebbles sound on our roof, I wearily stuffed socks into appropriate drawers instead of hunkering in the armchair with laptop on lap. Farewell, window. And the other day? I watched Once Upon A Time on hulu. Yes. I. Did. Ginnifer Goodwin trying to act like a tough Snow White when she is obviously not an equestrienne, axe-woman, or gazelle-adept when it comes to running through woods littered in enormous fallen trees. And then my son was up from his nap and I hadn’t napped or written, but let another window fade, more tiny lines of bloodshot joining others in my (blue-tinged-with-a-stricken-gray) eyes.

When I’m not tired, I’m this: Supernova—aka, the death throes of a very massive star, aka ‘standard candle’, i.e., my distance can be measured from Earth. Oh, yes. It can. Currently, in fact, as I blog from my armchair, I am as far from Earth as two novels under revision and a 1/3rd of a book of poetry from a sleepless mother can take me. Or—would be if I wasn’t, in fact, blogging…

My spouse has passed out singing James Taylor to our son passed out from a productive Sunday. The dog snores. Loudly. If I had a fireplace, it would be alive. It’s getting late and I still have to wash dinner’s carrot soup out of my hair (don’t get me started)…

Oh! Ha ha! Window! I am so tired, I see it.

Until breakfast, then. Or the next episode of Modern Family. Or the cows come home. I mean cats. I mean—boom, crash—thar she glows (bags unapparent).