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Sleep is for the Birds

October 22, 2009

As evidenced by the poor neglected blob, there hasn’t been a ton of writing going on lately. At least not outside my addled brain; inside of it, writing is an endless occurrence. The main reason is that school is back in full force for the boys- which means homework supervision, pre-bedtime novel-reading, catastrophic towers of laundry, daily lunch assembly, Parent-Teacher meetings, guitar & piano lessons… oh, and work still goes on, of course.

Some nights I’m so tired, I fall asleep as soon as I crack open my book to the same paragraph I’ve been trying to read for several weeks.

Which is why I’ve decided to do away with sleep. Not altogether, of course, but the thought is very tempting. If necessity is the mother of invention, insomnia is most definitely its great-aunt. There is a reason for this painting:

"Sleep and his Half-brother Death" by J.W. Waterhouse, 1874

"Sleep and his Half-brother Death" by J.W. Waterhouse, 1874

And make no mistake, it would be certain death for me if I stopped writing.

There will be coffee and grouchy mornings, but hopefully some scribbling in the quiet as the house sleeps.

In the meantime, I leave you with a lullaby:

Let the colors
of the evening
surround each
ineffectual sigh.
The day is over
and only the stars
can speak of renewal.
Everything left undone
will have to wait
until the night passes.
Let the quiet begin.
Let the breeze soften
into an unalloyed blue.
In this lovely darkness
serenity is wide
like the angle of sleep.

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