Journal 7

Fatigue has overtaken me and I have never anticipated nap time as much as I do right now. Last night was a battle between a three month old infant and myself. The infant won. I would be on the verge of sleep, caught between reality and the dream world, when BAM a prosecuting cry of hunger chose reality for me. A puppet version of myself would first tend to the needs of my pint-sized puppeteer, then attempt to sleep once more. Then the list from yesterday makes it's appearance. You know, the Everest-sized one. And suddenly the dishes are holding the strings.