Where does the time go?

One of my ceaseless frustrations is derived from time, or rather the lack of it.  People ask how I can go on the way I do, but my answer is the lack of time and some sort of wierd biological clock.  As it turns out, I’ve inherited one from my children and the other from my mother.  No matter how tired I am, I can be quite seriously falling asleep at the dinner table but, come 10 o’clock and *BING*, I’m wide awake.  All of my creative juices start to bubble and boil over during the witching hours, and I have to very sternly force myself to go to bed around midnight or 1 am.  Of course, that’s a problem when I have to wake by 6:30 to get the kids up and everyone to work and school.  Therefore, I operate most of my life on five hours of sleep or so.  This week has been particulary difficult.  Thursday brought a concert in a near by city that got me into bed at 2 am, up for work on Friday and then to a school function that evening, Saturday brought a dance recital, and Sunday is my daughter’s sixth birthday party.  The point is, it’s all catching up to me and, whew!, am I tired.  My writing time has dwindled and I find myself restless because of it.  Of course, many would say the solution is simple really.  Just go to bed at a reasonable hour, they would say.  Of course, I say pbbbbtttt to that.  Obviously the best solution is to write my way to a new career where I can stay up all night and no one expects me to be up at such ridiculous hours in the morning.  But for today, I think a nap is in order.