As she sat down to gather her thoughts she fought of the urge to wax philosophical or be overly melodramatic. It was something she often found herself doing in this situation. Now her head was spinning and she wasn't sure how she had gotten here. She muddled back through her memory over the events of the day. Listening to a child talk as the furnace growled loudly in the background. What time had that been? 6:30. Maybe 6:45. So long ago.
How she had managed to pull herself from her bed that hadn't even had enough time to become warm from her body, she did not know. Why had she done this to herself? She knew full well what the consequences of last night's actions would be, yet she had done them anyway. Why? She was feeling particularly foolish now.
Well if she was to survive the onslaught that was coming she was would need a plan of action. Quickly she jotted down a plan that she felt would help her succeed. No detail was left out of the strategy. She knew in her state it was possible to forget even the simplest of tasks, such as changing out of one's pajamas.
As the day wore on she felt it more and more. The effects were undeniable. She had to really focus on simple tasks such as breathing and blinking. Her children would not suffer at her hand. She refused to let her own shortcomings ruin them too. She turned on the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles Smash-Up and let them play video games as she stumbled through her house trying to remember if she had in fact transferred that load of whites to the dryer. Then dinner and baths and bedtimes and it was all a blur and before she new it she was sitting at the computer. The unforgiving glow of the white screen mocking her. Daring her to think of something ingenious to fill it. She closed her eyes for just a second allowing the regret of the night before rush over her. The caffeine infused Mountain Dew at midnight the night before. Sitting on the cold floor of her bathroom, shivering while she finished the young adult novel that her allegedly loving sister had recommended. Her sister had read this book before and new of its addictive qualities. Shouldn't she have not shared it?
As full of regret as she is at having spent the last 48 hours consuming 600 pages of literary crack, she can't help but begin to look lustfully at the book sitting next to her. Should she just pick it up and finish those last 150 pages in spite of the late hour? She should go to bed now that the menacing white page of the computer is full, but the feverish delusions that often accompany sleep deprivation whisper to her, just one more chapter.