Reluctantly Vertical

Oh man, do I ever want a nap right now. It’s Tuesday night, my brain is about as useful as that stanky slop, which probably used to be food, mouldering away in your fridge. Honestly, my brain is more like the actual fuzzy mould that’s growing in that plastic container: calling my grey matter slop is too generous right now.

I’m not getting deeply into the reasons behind my useless brains. Suffice it to say that I have probably read the equivalent of three novels in student work for marking over the past week. More painful than the amount I have read is the fact that this was teenage writing, and all writers are still developing their skills. Some of the skills are far more developed than others.

Those little muscles in the corners of my eyes, the ones I refer to as the “pink squishy parts” when I’m teaching portraiture, hurt. It compares quite nicely to the feeling I had in my calves last month, the day after I powered up the big hill out of the river valley with Sherman. Can I put a cold compress on my eyeballs to reduce swelling? Oy.

Tonight, with my mushy brain and my achy eyes, I need to get some groceries, grade one more class set of papers (no comments on these ones, however, thank goodness), write tomorrow’s blog post (check) and finish some lesson plans for school. I think I can. I think I can. I think I can.

How strange it is that we avoid naps actively as little kids, and we’d trade just about anything for a snooze on certain days of adulthood. What I would really like is a nap. A drooling on the pillow, snoring to beat the band, dreaming about ice cream nap-o-rama. If I had it my way, maybe I’d nap right on through until I have to wake up for school tomorrow. What a lovely thought.

I’m a grownup, though, as much as I fight it. Damn. I’m going to get my work done, go buy some groceries since I think the only green things in this house right now are a jar relish and the last Lifesaver, and try to get my sorry carcass into bed on time. I’m so tired of reading that I don’t even want to open a book for fun, and I can’t remember the last time that happened.

In an update to the above explaining why I’m still awake at 11:47 pm, I ended up having to zip out to the Electrician’s house, half an hour via highway from the dollhouse. My darling locked himself out of the house, and, after pinning on my fuchsia super hero cape and awesome avenger of evil wedge heels, I drove out to rescue him. The call came in early in the evening, but it set me back dramatically in my plan to get to bed early.

I think I learned that I should never gripe about how tired I am, or the powers that be will find a way to add another side dish to my already heaping plate from the fatigue buffet. For tomorrow, “perky” will be the magic word.

Oh, to snooze like the speckled one.

Come on, long weekend!

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