I asked the historian while we were walking the dog.
"You could talk about how today went, your first day back home," he said.
Well, there's a topic. I think I might have addressed this topic one or a hundred times before. And you'd have a point if you said, "HTMS, you owe us fresh material. When you said you'd blog every day in the year 2012, we thought fresh material was implied."
I so agree. In fact, I said to the historian last night, when I was about to have a meltdown in the face of a combustible mixture made up of (a) my exhaustion, (b) my gladness to be home, and (c) my exhaustion, "I hate to think that I've become one of those people." There was a thin edge of panic in my voice, as I recall.
"One of what people?" he said, because he's a solid citizen and will help a sister out, when she's exhausted/glad/exhausted/on the thin edge of panic.
"The kind of person whose equilibrium is so easily rattled!" Yep, that's the kind of meltdown I have--with stage-y dialogue. Insufferable, that kind.
Well, I did go to sleep, after walking the dog, and woke up feeling quite a bit closer to restored. Then I fell back asleep some more and dreamed that my children and my sister's children were all sleeping over in a big mess of children, kind of like a nest of puppies, except that among them was one vampire child. That's enough to wake a person up a second time. That time, I got up, got showered and dressed, and went off to a meeting, and another meeting. I gave myself a little credit for this show of professional responsibility and moral character--even, I daresay,for being a person whose equilibrium is, once rattled, rather easily recalibrated.
After that, I had lunch with my daughter and her nephew--that's right, my grandson, if you're keeping track--and came home. I had highmindedly let it be known that I planned to write this afternoon, but instead I took a short nap and read some stuff and did some laundry. After this massive show of productivity, there was nothing for it but Mexican food and a movie and a dog walk and a little late night television.
The answer to everything is sleep, the people, is the moral of that story. That, and--according to my dream--the police are the ones to call when you need help with your stray vampire child.