Even with very little sleep over the past nine days, I've been amazingly productive. My closet no longer looks like it's a living space shared by a dozen illegal immigrants. The deep, dark recesses of my kitchen pantry have been swept of the dust that's been there since the days of the Pony Express. The bathroom cupboard has been reorganized to the degree that my husband opened the door and thought he had entered the Twilight Zone.
The only place that's not really tidy is my sewing area. It looks like a pack of Tasmanian devils have been having a party in there. But they've been a busy pack of Tasmanian devils. Recent output includes two quilts, two purses, and an apron. Just goes to show what a few extra hours in the day (or night) will do for a person.
But it's all come to a crashing end. My doctor says that three hours of sleep each night isn't enough, so he gave me some sleeping pills. Wow, those little pills really pack a wallop. I slept a full eight hours last night. The downside is, I woke up feeling as if my super-charged V8 engine had been replaced with a motor from a hand-held mixer.
No problem, thought I. I'll just get some coffee. My younger son, Sasquatch, lovingly prepared a pot for me at my request. As I prepared to pour myself a big, steaming mug of java, I noticed the color of the brew. Where was the rich, mohogany hue? This looked like some water in which a dirty sock had been marinated. Sasquatch had miscalcuated on the amount of grounds to use, since this was the first time he'd had to make an 8-cup amount. I gamely went ahead and drank it, although I've got to say that it not only looked like dirty sock water, it tasted like dirty sock water. I made another pot and consumed the entire contents.
So now it remains to be seen if I can continue my hyper-productivity on the odd combination of more sleep + more coffee. I think I can. If I can just get my hands to quit shaking.