Bent spine alone
does not my story tell,
nor the makeup-less shadow
spreading underneath my eyes.
Perhaps my scowl
reveals something other indeed
than the truth
you shouldn’t be surprised to find.
I’m not
angry,
frustrated,
hurt,
or a bitch;
or perhaps I’m all of those things.
I’d sort it all out for you
tonight if I could,
but exhaustion is
overwhelmingly tiring.
Sierra Kummings (c) 2015
Today on Twitter a popular hashtag was #DescribeYourselfin3Words.
Mom.
Writer.
Yep, that just about sums it up.
So we’re clear, my daughter is who I aspire to be when I grow up. She’s everything good and kind and just plain wonderful in this world.
She just also happens to be very adept at torture. And she knows exactly how to bring me to my knees.
After 5 days of no more than 2 hours of sleep a night I’m ready to concede to her every demand. Except the only thing she wants is more party time with Mommy. And who can refuse such an adorable little face?
See, I told you…she’s a sadist.
Fed by my begging, she smiles wider with each of my yawns, giggles more hysterical at my every groaned plea.
Somewhere on Day 2 my brain shut off.
Completely.
As if words now have to traverse my entire body, each one making the trek through my veins alone, before they can individually spill out onto the page.
Recently, I took three weeks off in the hopes things would flow quickly again, and it worked. I sped my way through fifteen chapters.
Then life happened in the form of my 5 year old.
(Yes, I’m aware this is a current theme on my blog. But I have a love affair with sleep. Something so great not even my husband’s masterful attention can tear me away from its clutches. See here and here if you don’t believe me.
Would you like some cheese to go with the whine I’m serving?)
Now in all fairness to my daughter, it’s not her fault. She’s had sleep issues since birth that seem to go hand in hand with her diagnosis. But it doesn’t change the fact that I’ve been unable to string more than a few coherent sentences together at a time.
Which for a writer is more a little frustrating.
Correction: a lot frustrating.
Okay, who am I kidding? It sucks monkey balls.
I’m so close to finishing my novel, yet it still feels so far out of reach.
And each day that passes the more I ask…
…will this ever end?
Depending on the night it’s a toss-up whether I mean the sleeplessness or my book.
So how about you? What 3 words best describe you?
Sierra Kummings 