sore labour's bath

Sleep that knits up the ravelled sleave of care
Balm of hurt minds, great nature's second course,
Chief nourisher in life's feast.
~William Shakespeare, Macbeth

Today's Writing Prompt: Future self. Imagine yourself five years from now. What advice would you give your current self for the year ahead? (Bonus: Write a note to yourself 10 years ago. What would you tell your younger self?) (Thanks, Jenny Blake)

Dear Trixie:

What are you doing up at 12:30 again? Tomorrow morning, you will stick your face up close to the mirror and lament those circles and creases, and you will yawn and tell your puppy, who is running in circles and dropping her tennis ball at your feet, that you absolutely MUST get more sleep. The pup will yelp and you will dig through your cosmetics bag for the concealer (which, younger self, only highlights the circles, anyway. Try sleep instead).

Oh, and self? You know that baby you want to have “in the future”? I know this is going to sound crazy, you being only 29, but you might want to consider motherhood as a less distant possibility. As it turns out, no amount of running, ginseng, or green tea can preserve the kind of energy and vitality that is an absolute requirement of the job.

Also, it’s clear that Dad is eager to become a grandfather, and, well, you might come to appreciate giving him this gift a little earlier than you had originally planned. I know we’ve never quite considered Dad as “tender,” but you will be surprised and touched at the transformation that grandfatherhood brings.

But to get back to my original point: get some sleep, self. I could give you advice about finances, or friends, or parenting choices. But without proper rest, you will act impulsively (and often regretfully) in spite of any suggestions I make. And you will buy expensive eye cream from Origins and convince yourself that dabbing it along the dark and puffy spots under your peepers will compensate for years of sacrificing beauty sleep so that you could send one more email, or watch Jon Stewart (DVR, Self. Trust me), or search Ebay for that plum-colored hooded dress you haven’t seen but know exists, and in your size.

I’m telling you this, Self, because I am slumped over my laptop, unable to produce a single exciting sentence, because last night I gave sleep the bird yet again, and then got up with the dawn so that I could trip and stumble through my morning run.

Self, I have so much to tell you. If I can just get some sleep tonight, I’ll remember just what that is.


P.S. This is another Reverb post. Click here for more info.