It's 2:10 a.m. and I am sitting here, just as wide awake as anyone could ever hope to be. It makes me really sad that I no longer have a nursing baby, because what kind of opportunity would this be? A chance to be wide awake in the middle of the night instead of being crushed and otherwise diminished by a need for sleep. There would be no need to worry about the baby latching on to the wrong part of the breast and slurping a giant hickey, frustrated because nothing is coming out, Mom! No need to worry about putting my hand in poop while changing the post-nurse diaper.
I tried to go to sleep at midnight. I put down my book, told myself that it was nice and cool in the house, settled into my most comfortable position. I made myself think soft thoughts about how wonderful the blanket felt and how peaceful it is to hear the dairy trucks going by on the street outside, but one big, jangling thought came in and rumbled all the sweet little meditations away.
Did I put the detergent into the dishwasher and turn it on, or did I just put it into the dishwasher and leave the dishes sitting?
It's amazing how one thought can make such a freakish nuisance of itself because really, does it matter about the dishes? It's not like they're going to unload themselves and spend a couple of hours drawing up signs and picketing the kitchen: "Better Working ConDISHons for DISHes!"
I place my head in several different poses on my pillow -- pillow smashed up, pillow smooshed down, pillow folded over -- but it won't cooperate. All I can think about are the dishes.
Trudging downstairs, I go to the kitchen. The dishwasher is all finished; the green light is on signaling that the cycle is done.
I come to sit down at the computer. The dishwasher's cycle may be finished, but it looks like mine might be starting up again.
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