I’m stumbling around in the dark, at 3:00 a.m., trying not to wake the man who woke me up a half an hour ago when he stumbled into bed, after falling asleep on the couch reading books about math problems.

Sometimes, late at night when I can barely see my hand in front of my face as it reaches for the corners of walls and doors on the way to the toilet, I wonder what it’s like to be blind. They say you can see shadows, and you get used to where things are.

Maybe in your own house, after walking around for a few weeks in the dark, you wouldn’t feel so lost and confused by shadows that seem like edges of closet doors but are really walls. And maybe you’d stop hitting your shoulders on corners that sneak up on you and hurt like hell because you weren’t expecting them there, right then, at that moment.

If days were like nights and the shadows were always the same, how would they feel, spread out for hours, waiting to be filled? You could read, if you learned to do it by touch, or listen to people talk to each other on TV or the radio or the internet. And of course you could still talk.

And you could still sit on the couch and figure out math problems in the middle of the night.

photo courtesy of www.sightwithouteyes.com

"Winona Ryder? You think she's hot? Are you kidding me?"

"Hello! Did you find everything OK?" she smiles sweetly as she starts scanning my groceries.

"Yes, thanks," I smile back. I'll be polite.

"Do you need help out today?"

"No thanks." "She does NOT need help out today," she says nicely but firmly to the bagger. "Do you need a separate plastic bag for your soap items?" She says to me.

"Oh, no thanks," I say.

"She does NOT need an extra bag for her soap," she says to the bagger. "How's your day going?" she sings, as her hands quickly move the items from the belt to the bagging area.

"Fine thanks," I am pleasant, just like her.

"That's great!" she gushes. "Do you need help out today?"

"No thanks," my voice stays friendly.

"Ok! Your total's $108.63! Here's your reciept, have a wonderful day!" her smile is wide.

"Thanks!" I fake, but in a genuine way.

"Do you need help out today?" He asks nicely as he puts the last big bag in my cart.

"No thanks," I smile.

"Are you sure?" he frowns slightly, putting a little plastic bag with all my soap items on top of my cart.

"Yes. Yes, I'm sure," I quickly roll my cart to the door, which opens for me, and escape.

"What time is it?" he mumbled in the dark.

"4:45," I said as I climbed into bed.

"What were you doing?" He rolled over and hugged a pillow.

"Reading 'The Feminine Mystique,' trying to find out what's wrong with me."

"Oh," he started drifting off.

"The good news is, I'm not alone." I wrapped myself around him to get warm.

"Good."

"In fact, a whole movement started because of women like me," I adjusted a pillow so my head could rest on his shoulder. I listened to him fall asleep.

"8 days? That's a long time to be gone," he said as he drank his coffee.

"I know, but this could be her big break," I said wistfully, like stage mothers do. "Big filmmakers and big businesses will be there. Talent scouts too, I'm sure. I really should take her."

"I thought you were going to travel less while I'm on this project," he reminded me.

"But I really think she's destined for Hollywood. I'm like her manager," as if he didn't know. "I have to network for her. I have to get her out there to meet people. She's so great in person."

"Can't you just wait a few months before you push this, when things aren't as busy?" He was tired.

"This is a great opportunity, though. We've got some momentum. People are starting to pay attention to her," it all made sense to me.

"Honey," he said with a sigh, that was almost desperate.

"You think I'm crazy, don't you?" I closed the laptop and crossed my arms.

"She's a mannequin," he looked at me. There was a hint of smirk. "She can wait a few months for her big break."

"How funny! I put a picture of Isabella Rossellini on Facebook for Doppelganger week, and a bunch of people actually think it's me," I laughed.

"Did I tell you about the little incident I experienced yesterday?" she said as she helped herself to a glass of water in our kitchen.

"No, not yet," I smiled. Of all my daughter's friends, she was the best story teller.

"Well," she took a breath and began, "I was walking down the hall at school yesterday, and I came upon a group of girls," she put the water down, so she could use her hands to explain. "And they were talking about Obama. And then one of them said 'What's his last name, anyway?'"

My husband and I laughed with her.

"Can you believe that? How can they not know that is his last name? And to make matters worse, they were all blondes."

"That's not really their fault," I mused.

"Did you tell them his first name is President?" asked my husband.

"No," she said, "that might have confused them even more."

photo credit: This article at Sott.net about how too much coffee shrinks your breast size. 

"Why.the.hell.isn't this working?" I growled. 

"Hello?" I said excitedly when I saw her name pop up.