Very tired these days because the baby is still readjusting to our time zone, after one week back from the trip overseas, and is waking up in the middle of the night then staying awake for a good hour and a half to two hours. Last night he woke up twice; the second time, at 4 am and he never went back to sleep, poor little tyke.
Fatigue is the biggest killer of literary inspiration that I know about, and I'm experiencing that tonight. Thinking, however, about the whole subject of getting "lost," which was the point of this blog--and not, describing the intricacies of caring for a baby and all the personal traits of this particular little boy. So I'm writing a blog to, in a sense, get as far away as I can from the "mother" role that I'm playing most of the day. Is it working?
I'd have to say, for the most part, yes...though I tend to drift back to the quotidian banalities more than I should. At least, however, I've managed to indicate what this quality of being "lost" means to me, both as a mother and as a writer. It's not an escape from reality, so much as a distancing from it to see it (hopefully) that much more clearly.
But fatigue makes any kind of reality itself seem to drift--that's what's so scary about being extremely tired. And so, on that note--I'm off to bed.
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