Last night, I stayed up until 3 a.m. whacking away at an essay on Antony and Cleopatra, and woke up not enough hours later with a notion of how I could rip it apart and restructure it. My brain then crossed its little symbolic arms, snooted its little symbolic nose up to the sky, and refused to do anything until I bent to its will.
Stupid brain. Why can’t you shut up and leave me be?
In any event, the paper is done now. I have no business writing here when there’s so much else to write before the semester is out, but I promised myself I would bang out a few words, just enough to reassure you I’m alive.*
I’m intensely sleep-deprived: I’m seeing sparkles of color, flashes of light, and dark slithering tails of what must be large scaly creatures lurking just out of the corners of my vision. It’s Jacob’s Ladder around here, my friends, and the infusion of caffeine I gave myself this afternoon guarantees I’ll be awake to make the most of it all night long.
The Fella has been my stalwart through the havoc of this week. He surprised me Saturday night by arriving home from work with a pizza and a Red Velvet cake (“because I’m so proud of you”) just around the time I blearily looked up from the keyboard and started wondering what I could throw together for dinner.
Yesterday afternoon, I started with “I was going to make —”
He cut in, “No, no, you’re not making dinner. I’ll get something, anything! What would you like?”
“Oh, uh… really I can easily make —”
“You. Are. NOT. Making. Dinner. What would you like?” Taking in my utterly blank look, he (bless him) got up, put on his coat, and said, “I’ll be back with something.”
Tonight, he made spicy-hot quesadillas heaping with vegetables, because I’ve been talking about Tex-Mex. And he bought ice cream.
Yes. Yes, I am the luckiest. Thank you, Dr. Beardface.
*Tonight, I heard a term for this, a term I love so much I promptly stole it. The phrase is “waving, not drowning.”