insomnia

For those of you who are not women of a (ahem) certain age, this may be meaningless. But there are those amongst you who know what I mean. You know what it means to crave the sweet oblivion of sleep, to be so exhausted that even your toenails are punch drunk, but YOU. . .CAN. . .NOT. . .SLEEP.

It is 106 am Sunday. I have been up and running since 615 Saturday morning. I have shopped at Walmart (ick), cooked for 14, wrote 1500+ words, gone to the garden center, done 4 loads of laundry,  brought home the bacon, fried it up in the pan, never let him forget he’s a man. (old commercial, for you youngsters.) I am more tired than anyone should be. But here I sit, unable to sleep.

Now all this would be great, if I could accomplish something on the Great American Romance Novel. But I have learned the hard way that the path to heartache is writing or editing while I am sleep deprived. So I can go watch Billy Mayes reruns (Nooooo, don’t go into the light, Billy!!!!) or I can blog. Lucky y’all, guess which I picked.

But I do have the luxury of unlimited time to shop the eye candy store. Since my finished ms ends with the Duke and Duchess all goo-goo over their new-born baby, and I am just a sucker for men who love kids, not to mention my well-known predilection for Brits, what could be better than this:

Romance Mama, I want to have your baby . . .

Romance Mama, I want to have your baby . . .

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One Response

  1. Geez, Romance Mama- look at all the ads your post hooked to our little blog. LOL! AND who doesn’t love Sean Bean?

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