This is a placeholder post, I’m sure, just something to keep those little numbers on the calendar widget a solid blue. Mum is still here at our place. This morning we drove her to visit her ancient aunt, who lives in a nursing home on the wrong side of Toronto, before heading to Shelley’s place to pick up Fergus. It was a lo-ong day in the carcar. It’s 9 30 pm now, and Mum and E.g. went to bed an hour ago. I’m hanging out in the living room to keep an eye on Fergus, who has graduated to a crate, and has the runs. Crate-training does not look especially propitious at this moment.
So, since I’m up when I should be down, I have decided to list ten ways I can feel that I’m tired. Maybe next time you’re writing a novel, you can use one of the descriptions, in the spirit of showing, not telling, the reader.
Oh, yeah, the list.
1. I go to do something, and get distracted by something else on the way. For example, my path gradually veers as I fold the laundry, change the calendar page, and check the phone messages on my way to administering dog kibble.
2. My eyelids swell. They start to drag against my eyeballs like poorly installed vinyl roman blinds.
3. I sing bits of song that I never sing, or even think of, at any other time. Just now I was chanting, “Circle ’round the right — the old red wagon, you’re the one my darling!”, a folksong learned in grade school.
4. I stop speaking in mid-sentence. It’s just too
5. My upper body goes very still. Hard t type tihs way.
6. When I’m semi-tired, bumping into something hurts more than when I’m not tired, and I swear more. But when I’m really tired, I don’t say anything. Too much energy wasted cursing.
7. I don’t want my usual evening bottle of beer.
8. I don’t hear what anyone is saying. Or at least, I hear it, but it registers as so much twittering and chirping.
9. I start babbling internally, words that sound like someone conversing but really the idea of the wagon and those curtains were open because she wanted the breeze, said the elephant to the fly but can you imagine what the St Lawrence Islands would really be like if the Ice Age hadn’t started behind the cigar.
10. I can’t make a list of ten things.