It is impossible to write anything that makes any sense in this state.
I can write sick, drunk, mad, happy, sad, but I can't write exhausted. It's frustrating when the thought is there but won't translate from the visual in my head to words. Reminds me of taking painting lessons. I could see the picture in my mind but getting it from there to the canvas just wouldn't work.
It's no surprise to anyone who has kids that this should happen. Doesn't matter what age they are because it's one thing or another, even long after they leave home. Just seems like the tired gets more "tiredey," as I get older. Back there in the Paleozoic of my life, I could go 20 hours a day for years straight. Not much choice, really, not then. Maybe my body is getting back at me for all those years. Great, a vengeful body. That would explain the widening of the butt, too.
The teenagers are the tired-makers. Two seventeen year old males are about the limit of what I can handle. If it isn't one of them doing something utterly stupid, it's the other one. They alternate days, an amicable arrangment for them, I would suppose. Doesn't do much for the Old Lady, though. An old friend dropped in yesterday for no particular reason. We sat down at the table and he remarks, "Well, you look better. Have some color in your cheeks." Great. I didn't know I had been looking so bad. Somebody might have told me. "Old girl, you're looking quite raggedy. Might I suggest a week or two in Fiji?"
As a matter of fact, I am tired enough that I am not even cooking anything remotely tasty for supper. Loose meat sandwiches for us, with chips, whatever he can find for the veggie teen. This is sort of an anomalous thing because I know most people would consider loose meat sandwiches to be cooking. Nah. Putting something in a pan, pouring broth over, simmering until done, nah, that isn't real cooking. That's TiredCrankyOldLady night. Sure as hell beats Fend for Yourself, though, even if it isn't real cooking. A person could get real sick of breakfast food in a short time.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
About Me
- dragonmom
- A hobby cook from the Midwest. Experiments, thoughts, new recipes, maybe even a photo or two... You noticed the pouting little girl with the words superimposed over her face? Growing up in the 60s and 70s the refrain of "there are starving children in [insert current poverty-stricken nation] that would love to have such... etc etc etc." I don't know that anyone actually believed all that but the image of a starving foreign child, holding out a bowl in hopes of being gifted with boiled tongue or green tomato pie, was pretty powerful. I do recall the kind of trouble kids would inevitably be in if they dared to say what most of us thought: "Well, then, send this stuff right on over to those poor, starving [insert country] kids." I don't usually post other people's photos, just my own. If you want to borrow or use one of my photos, I would appreciate your asking first. I usually don't mind but do hate having my work attributed to someone else. By the way, I found the photo of that pouting girl on the web with no attribution. If it's yours? We'll deal, ok? Thanks.
Some favorites
No comments:
Post a Comment