drowse and read
the journal of Michael Werneburg
twenty-seven years and one million words
Toronto, 2011.04.20
I read a couple of books to Kenny last night before he (and I) fell asleep. I was so tired, though, I kept making mistakes.
Able to keep my eyes open, but not alert enough to discern words, I was essentially reading jibberish as my fried brain substituted wrong words for right as I read. Then I noticed toward the end of the second book that I'd skipped several pages.
Kenny asked me, "Are you tired Daddy?"
I said, "Yeah, pretty sleepy."
"Me, too."