Writing Wrongs

November 10, 2006

So last night, I was snuggling with Kyra. We have to do the ďrub back,Ē and the ďcomb hair,Ē and generally, I have to sing the Airborne Ant song. (Thatís right. No lullabies for our children. We sing (modified) Army cadences. The Airborne song was Andrewís favorite, too.) But last night I was really, really tired and saw no harm in snuggling just a bit longer.

I fell asleep. This isnít such a bad thing, but my entire right leg fell asleep as well. The whole thing, from hip to foot, so when I stood up--


I hit the floor, smacked my knee, and wondered what the hell just happened. The noise did not: wake the kids or bring my concerned husband running from the basement.

The leg wasnít working and wouldnít for a while. This was clear. I decided to crawl back to my bedroom. There I went, down the hall, on all fours. Nice. I was glad I didnít wake the kids or bring my concerned husband running from the basement, because it was kind of embarrassing.

Eventually, I made it to the bed and pulled myself up. While I sat there, recovering, I thought: hey, I should remember what this feels like. I could use it in a story.

Did I mention it was really late and I was really tired?

I can see it now. Impending doom. Villain about to triumph. Heroine springs into action. But wait! Her leg is asleep. She canít move. Story canít move. Story so boring, it puts all of writerís limbs to sleep. Go. Save. Yourself.

If youíre concerned about my knee, thank you, itís fine. If youíre concerned about my sanity, itís still on the road to recovery.

Charity Tahmaseb wrote at 1:09 p.m.