In response to a comment on my last post:

Muse intervention? Sounds drastic. I know Muse has been making a habit of falling into those giant margarita glasses lately... but a full scale intervention? Or is there an illicit gambling problem I'm not aware of? Is that where Muse is disappearing to every weekend? Tell me. Tell me! Or is Muse planning to run away to be with Patience and Grace?! Well Fruitbat! If that's the case, there's definitely going to be a problem. Folly came home last week so I know the girls are lonely and all, but Really. That's going too far and, Oh Yes!, that would certainly call for serious intervention. If I only saw Muse twice yearly, as I do Patience, I might as well plonk the pens in their holder and sell the laptop.

Honestly... What I really need at the moment is less rain outside my window, fewer Legos beneath my feet, and spawnlings who truly understand that when Mom is wearing the headphones, you DO NOT sneak up behind her and touch her shoulder like a spider! (I almost died today from a heart attack. I literally leapt from my chair, ripping the headphones from my laptop, and fell over the Legos on the floor because Shaggy thought that touching my shoulder very, very lightly would not be as bothersome as his normal interruption technique - i.e. leaning into my airspace and staring at me until my amazing ignoring powers hit nuclear meltdown) I am making a sign. It shall read: "The Mom you see here is a figment of your imagination." I shall hang it on the back of my chair. If that doesn't work, the flip side will read: "DANGER. Will explode upon contact!" (as a side note, I think my reaction to Shaggy's new technique scared the crap out of him almost as much as it did me. I dare say he won't be trying that one again!)

What I will soon need from my family and friends is a mental health watch. Mr.Clean leaves in a week for a business trip. One that will take him to the other side of the world, for Three Freaking Weeks (and possibly more). My non-butt-crack-o'-dawn heinie will have to magically levitate from the bed at 5:30 a.m. to get Shaggy up and out the door. It will then have to stay awake another hour to make sure Doodlebug is up and gets out the door. And Lord help those spawnlings if they miss their buses - and the folks who will have to see me in my jammies if I have to drive them.

Then, I have to convince my non-morning brain that an hour's nap is a pipe dream. It will not happen that way. I know this. I have tried. One such as me just cannot go back to bed at 7 a.m. and expect to wake at 8 a.m. for work. Still, my brain will say that if I want it badly enough, I can make it work. It LIES! It will always be past 10 a.m. when I wake up again.

Undoubtedly by Noon, I will be on caffeine overload and jonesing for a nap of epic proportions. At 12:30 p.m., I will wake up wearing keyboard face. The simple thought of a nap was too much for my tired little body to bear. I will have hit the narcolepsy stage. The only thing that will save me at this point will be random incoming calls on my cell. The mere idea of work thinking I might be snoozing on the job is too much for me to bear. I have a highly over-developed guilt complex.

Lunch is at 2 p.m. - in other words, a glass of water and a power nap. Shaggy gets home at 3 p.m. and will wake me. Hopefully, I will wake like a normal person. He loves it Too much when I fall off the couch screaming. Doodlebug hits the back door at 4:30 p.m. My last hour of work is shared with the multi-tasking of Mom duties (Homework Field Marshall on duty, SIR!).

Then dinner. Then, another narcoleptic episode which will culminate in an abrupt awakening where I'm absolutely sure my house is on fire (or some other random disaster has occurred). I will find my spawnlings have decorated me like a passed out college kid at a frat party. Lipstick and shaving cream will probably be involved. After a good scrubbing down, I will, using my genius level thought processes, counteract this last stage with... Yes... MORE coffee. This will ensure I move swiftly from narcolepsy to insomnia. I will not be able to sleep until at least 2 a.m. (but, Hello! I will be Writing!) And then, it all starts again 3 1/2 hours later. But geez, I didn't even get to the part about laundry and dishes - those little things that Mr. Clean normally takes care of. Yes. I admit it. I am spoiled. Rotten.

So Muse... no problem. Incoming insanity? Batten down the hatches. She's gonna blow!
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