With Your Mouth Open

I used to be a horrible daughter that nudged my brother, Fran, for laughs when our Dad fell asleep with his mouth open. I would shake my head in wonder, Are you THAT tired, Dad, that you can’t close your mouth?

Apparently yes.

Apparently that also runs in the family.

In an uber-productive weekend where we took to the leaves the way soldiers took to Normandy, and I tackled my closet and *finally* unpacked from a 4 weekend trip October, Nick and I accomplished much this weekend, domestically speaking. We cooked dinner, celebrated Books’ 30th birthday with the loyal Tom Ward from the ‘Nati, and even squeaked in an early 9am mass on Sunday morning. We rock like that.

After all that activity, I crawled to the sofa and sank into a poetry book, ready to be taken into a deliriously gorgeous Nikki Giavonni world, and then fell asleep, books on the floor, limbs sprawled like I’d been drugged, mouth gaping open. I was exhausted. Nick read Time magazine and covered me with a blanket. He’s kind like that.

Life is so much easier when you’re organized and wake up early. It’s so much easier to decide what to wear when your clothes are actually hanging on hangers and not crumbled up like leaf piles on your bedroom rug. I may be converted to Nick’s style of living – uncluttered and happy.

In other non-exciting details that we love to talk about, I continue to lament the lable of True Adult which Nick and I have humbly accepted. WIthout alarms, I wake up at 6:45am. Now for those of you out there who think that is not a big deal, remember two things:
1) I used to have nearly all evening classes at Xavier because I couldn’t wake up before 11am and 2) I am unemployed

I suppose it’s the rigor of raking leaves and rearranging my magnetic poetry that drains me and I need a fitful 8 hours to be productive. This transition is quite shocking, to say the least. Nick, in his balanced life patterns of wake, shower, work, eat, read, sleep gets routinely heavy lidded at 10:30pm (how embarassing) and rises to the world like clockwork at 7:30am. We don’t even have kids to blame for our lameness. We are Adults.

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