There are limits.

I've written lots of magazine stories that would seem to suggest you can create energy: by eating strategically, going for a walk instead of another cup of coffee, sniffing invigorating scents. Bullshit. Today—today—I'm going with the laws of thermodynamics, straight-up.  Sorta. I kinda think energy can be destroyed. Here's how:

• Wake up late to two dueling iPhone alarms, both downstairs. There's a kid in our bed lying perpendicular between us, forming a perfect H.
• Digs circles. Olive slithers. Demanding food and love. The aroma of coffee wafts. Thank God.
• Breakfast battles > dressing drama > out-the-door dawdling.
• Dentist > deliberations > discussions.
• Kid pickup. Disturbing report. (All is fine but WTF?!?).
• Championship softball game; little "fans" snake through mounds of dust while I stand sentry waiting for a foul ball to knock someone off. It's not like I could catch it. (All the time others were developing hand-eye coordination, I was doing handsprings, aerials, plies. Dammit.)
• Herding humans > mud-room strip-down > naked parade/pet feeding > one-minute, assisted showers. PJs.
• Dinner making > dinner eating > dinner clearing.
• Dessert demanding. I succumb. 
• Teeth tending. Kid TV. Books. Back-scratching.
• Him: "Tell me a story...." Me: "I can't. My brain doesn't work anymore. 'Night."

I imagine the inside of my head an iPhone with too many apps running at once. Battery's draining like an emptying tub. All to do is reboot.

My old-author self would tell me to go lace up those new minimalist shoes (half off, perhaps due to their John Deere hues) and get down to the basement for a workout. Common sense would send me to bed. Instead, I pour myself a glass of Cab and ready myself for a date with Cary Agos. Done.