LJ Idol Survivor: Final Immunity Challenge, Day 1

[flipflop_diva]

Her song calls to me, beautiful and melodic, luring me toward her, promising nothing but pleasant dreams and perfect peace.

It starts every night around the same time, when the lights are fading into the dark and the tick of the clock says the end of the day is approaching.

When the song begins, I am fine. Awake. Full of energy. Thoughts dance in my head of what the night holds — opportunities to make progress, to reach my full destiny, to become who I was meant to be.

Maybe I can write a novel, my fingers dancing over the keyboard as words dance from my mind to the page. Maybe I can lose myself in a good book, and find myself in another world.

Maybe my goals will be smaller but still important — piecing together the perfect domain, where nothing is out of place and everything sparkles in the morning light. Maybe I will reach out to those I have neglected, writing to them across time and distance, re-solidifying the relationship we once use to have.

Maybe, maybe, maybe ….

There is so much to choose from, so much I can accomplish. I am excited and eager. I am ready.

But first there is one more thing I must do, one more bridge I must cross, one more tide I must battle against.

I must get the toddler to bed. I must change her and read to her and tell her for the one hundredth time that no, we cannot sing “Baby Shark” all night. I must find Mickey and Minnie and make sure they are in her bed. I must fill up her water when her cup is empty. And I must sit beside her in the dark of her room, only the stars on her ceiling and the night light in the corner offering solace, as she maybe, hopefully, eventually, finally falls asleep.

By then, as the clock creeps even closer to the end of the day, the song is louder, more beautiful, more perfect.

I say goodnight to my husband, leave him to his chess games and his YouTube videos, and head down the stairs.

She sees me coming, and her song gets louder. It’s the most beautiful song I have ever heard. I stop to listen.

Turn left, my brain tells me, and go grab your laptop. You have words to write and some bills to pay and there are ten emails left to return. Plus, there are cups on the sink that need cleaning, and maybe you should finally put that load of laundry into the wash machine.

And your friend, my brain continues, the one who wants to watch the next episode of “Worst Cooks in America” with you? She’s waiting, just a chat away. Go to her.

I start to turn to the left, to my home office, to grab my laptop, to do all the things I really do want to do.

She interrupts, her voice higher, more melodic than the one in my brain.

“It’s just a nap,” she calls. “It’s twenty minutes. A beautiful, peaceful, blissful twenty minutes. Won’t it be wonderful? Aren’t you tired? Just twenty lovely minutes, and then I will let you be. Then you can write your words and clean your dishes and watch your TV with your friend. Just twenty beautiful, glorious minutes!”

I can’t refuse. I have never heard a better offer. Nothing has ever sounded so wonderful as does the promises she makes me. And I am tired. So, so tired.

“Don’t be stupid!” screams my brain, but it is too late.

I am turning right, toward the living room. I am heading for her, my lovely, comfortable, fantastic couch.

I’m barely thinking anymore, just pulling out the turquoise blanket from the basket, fluffing up the pillow just right. I put my phone down beside me, make sure the twenty minutes is already ticking down.

“Yesssss,” the couch whispers, in her silky, melodic, comforting voice. “You are doing the right thing.”

“I’m doing the right thing,” I say. “I will feel so much better in twenty minutes.”

I fall on to the couch and on to the pillow, the blanket wrapping around me, almost as if I am in a trance. Perhaps I am.

I let my eyes close. It’s only nine thirty. I’ll be up in twenty minutes. And then I will do all the things, write all the words, watch all the shows.

I take a deep breath. I think no more. I just dream.

--

My eyes open.

Everything is still, the only sound the breathing of the dog in her bed beside the couch.

I feel like I’ve been sleeping forever. Did my alarm wake me? Has it not yet been twenty minutes?

I sit up, reach for the phone, peer at it.

2:27, it reads.

Damn it!

I head up to bed. Stupid couch. Maybe tomorrow I can finally resist.





Sadly, nonfiction. My life almost every night. Especially worse since I've been pregnant. I blame the couch.




Thank you for reading! This was written for therealljidol: Survivor Idol! We're at the final immunity challenge now, so there's no voting. We just write an entry every day until only one person is left standing.

That said, if you want to read the entries, you can find them all here.

Comments

[gunwithoutmusic]

Oh man, I know this feeling all too well! When I get home from work, there's always something that needs to be done - dishes, laundry, tidying up, dinner - that feels more important than doing anything creative. The things I want to do always feel so frivolous compared to the things I need to do.

And I'm always just so worn out. Long days and long commutes take their toll, so it feels like the second I get in, the bed is calling me.

As much as I'm not looking forward to this challenge for the stress factor, I am looking forward to it at the same time. I think about, 'I call myself a writer, but what did I write today?' and usually the answer is, "Nothing." At least right now I have a good reason to write something everyday!

[adoptedwriter]

Totally mom life. I remember it. Especially expectant mom life. So artfully depicted.

[murielle]

I have to take naps. I understand naps. Sometimes they turn into more than naps. I know that call all too well.

Brava!

[halfshellvenus]

Hahahahaha!

I was waiting to see who the owner of that siren call was.

“Yesssss,” the couch whispers, in her silky, melodic, comforting voice.
But I never expected the couch! Oh, what a traitor.

I'm usually trying to do all the writing on my couch at night, once other people are in bed and the distractions have died down. But then, the siren call is usually Spider Solitaire or 3D Mahjongg (Hello, ADHD!) and the refusal of words to come now that I want and need to use them!

[alycewilson]

Excellent entry! I can identify with this, and I love the implicit humor and vivid details.