Great. Now I too am held hostage by the incessant ticking of smug clocks all over the house. At first I thought it was my penance for not knowing enough about the candidates, and that it would subside if only I would educate myself once and for all, but now I think I've just caught Brandy's insomnia out and out. Just as women cycle together, it seems they can also suffer delusions of grandeur together, which seems to come with the territory of not sleeping. While B is busily planning her Obama fundraiser at 3:15 am, I am mixing khaki green paint for my living room, which I hope to have completely painted and dry by the time she drops off Addison and Maia at 11:00am.
Gone are the days of greeting each other in the mornings with cool geography or world news links in an email. Now, B is expecting me to help her raise a thousand dollars for Barack Obama by dawn, even though she knows I am still clinging to my blankie of hope for John Edwards, and I am sitting here hoping to catch her on gmail at 3:20 to ask her how to superimpose a photograph onto a black template, because who in their right mind can sleep until that happens? Sigh.
It's not as weird as it seems. Maybe insomnia's our superpower. I mean, she's reading Emma, I'm reading Wherever You Go There You Are. She's making Rocky Road candy from scratch, I'm assembling bunk beds. She's spinning blogs like plates, I'm cleaning until my fingers bleed. Okay so every superpower has its cost. Maybe I ought to pace myself, but hyperproductivity seems the smartest way to combat the blink blink blinking hours spent wishing insomnia away...
B, couldn't you have just given me a sore throat or something?