Oy Vey

I don’t want to write today.

I’m not kidding.  I feel like warmed-over death.  All I want to do is curl up into a ball and sleep until I don’t feel like a human dumpster fire.

I don’t get to do that, however.  Much as I would like to, much as I want to, much as I need to, I can’t.  I’ve to much to get done.  I have this post to write to stay on track.  I have part three of Temple which I need to complete in the time-frame that I provided my editor.  All of this is me forcing myself to treat writing as I want it to be: my job.

When you work for yourself, sure you get to do fun stuff like take a nap without repercussions.  Sure, you get to set your own schedule.  However.  You still have to put bread on the table.  Readers still prefer known quantities.  I would also like to one day have an editor, and as such, I need to make sure that I demonstrate I can produce not only on a schedule, but under a specific set of guidelines.  A deadline, if you will.  I heard that authors who sign contracts need to show they can honor such things.  Madness, I say.

My wife, however, has done something so incredibly amazing for me that I lack the words to describe it.  She has, of her own volition, allowed me to sleep a large amount of time.  I shall provide the scenario which lead to this decision.

My son is two.  As such, he has an overt fascination with every-day things.  The vacuum is his favorite thing.  He discusses fans endlessly.  And he pretends to go night-night at every given opportunity.  As I am a man above the age of thirty, when my son sleeps, I sleep.  This afternoon, I was especially hopeful of getting a nap in.  It was needed.

However, upon arriving upstairs, my son was quite awake.  He was, as is tradition, naked in his crib calling out HI DADA as loud as he could.  When I went in to get him, he giggled like made and his smile made it’s way onto my face.  Not a terrible trade, but man did I need sleep.  I’ve been fighting some weird, extended illness.  My wife has commented on how it’s making me into this weird zombie for many days now.  So, no nap was to be found.

I went into our bedroom, trailing tiny human, who wanted nothing more than to play night-night.  He bundled up our covers, and leapt onto the wife’s pillow, with cries of NIGHT-NIGHT DADA.  He pointed out my pillow, his pillow, my blanket, his blanket, the wife’s blanket (spare sheets on the floor, but close).  He commented that our fan is a lot like his fan.  This was the scenario for almost thirty minutes of playtime.  He laughed a lot, I got to snore like an idiot to rapturous attention.  Much fun was had.

Enter the wife, who hears our mischief in the basement, and comes to investigate the merriment.  She plays with us, laying down herself, and we have some good family time working with our son as he describes various things.  All good and well.

Then my wife, LIKE A BOSS, takes our son and leaves.  She makes sure the tiny human has turned the fan back on, then she closes the door.  I’m in bed, fan on, in dire straits for sleep, and my wife has just taken the child and given me carte blanch to get as much rest as I can.  Six hours later, I wake up.
Seriously.  That was amazing.  More than I could’ve ever hoped for.  It has made my day so much easier to cope with.  I have so much more energy and ability now than I did before I slept.  I’m a night owl, and my best sleeping is done during daylight.  My most restful, deepest sleep is when the sun is up.  It’s going to cost me years of my life, but it is what it is.  And my wife took the child-bullet like a champ.

I gave her everything she wanted upon waking, and I’m going to make this house shine when I’m done with it.  So here I sit, watching Terminator, writing this post, and loving what my wife just did for me.

I would do another story post, but I have a deadline that I need to hit for Temple.  My editor (a friend of my wife with several literary degrees who is also a teacher) is chomping at the bit for me to finish more.  She is a pretty avid fan, and a very hard to please reader.  I feel most complimented by her insistence, and I intend to deliver on the promise of what I’ve developed so far.

Love,
Justin