There are tumbleweeds blowing through this blog. I feel terrible about it, because it's basically the only thing that I do and it's not getting done. Dreams of publishing the next best seller = crushed under a sh!t ton of poopy diapers. The reality is that I don't find life all that funny right now. There are funny moments still, just surrounded by endless drooling. I'm drooling. Not my kids. I guess they probably are too though.
I've been to St. Petersburg twice in my life during White Nights, which is the time during the summer when it doesn't get dark there. (Doesn't White Nights sound like a Moody Blues song or a KKK concert series? Yeah, I thought so too.) The first time I was there, I was 15 and I thought it was amazing. Who needs sleep? Let's just stay up all night!!! There's no difference between night and day! YAY!!! The second time I was there I was 28, and I almost died. Why in the hell is there no difference between day and night? I need to sleep!!! You see my point. Five years on from that and I am living in permanent White Nights. (NOT the KKK concert series.) There is no difference between night and day. I am always awake, wiping butts and taking names. And it's killing me.
The funny thing about sleep deprivation is nothing. There's nothing funny or redeeming about it. It makes me feel drunk, but without any fun keg stands or tight black pants. It just sucks. Maybe someday soon my baby will decide to sleep again and I will start writing. I'm guessing maybe 14 or 15 years from now? I think that's a solid estimate.
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