Monday night, I closed the roman shades and turned off the television. After locking doors and flicking off lights, I made my way down the hall, I paused for a moment in the doorway of each child's room, listening to their soft, rhythmic breathing. The metallic jangle of the dog's collar tags split the silence for a moment, and as she settled down on the foot of my daughter's bed, the quiet fell over the house once again.

I entered my bedroom at last, a long day behind me. With my husband travelling, I looked forward to having the whole bed to myself. I had put fresh sheets on the bed, and as I folded back the covers, I inhaled deeply. There are few things more comforting than the smell of crisp, cotton sheets. Sighing with pleasure, I slid under the comforter and wriggled around a bit, swishing my legs in wide arcs along the mattress. Bliss.

I turned off my bedside lamp, and fluffed my pillow just so. I lay on my back, waiting for sleep to come and claim me. The minutes ticked by, and my mind continued around in circles on my mental baggage carousel, revisiting the minutia of my day. I tried squeezing my eyes shut forcefully. Rolling to my left, I tucked my fists under my chin and looked at the digital alarm clock. The blinking 12:00 must be the result of the kids' wrestling match on the bed earlier. Fantastic, I thought. Time is at a standstill.

The thing is, I know time isn't standing still. As I closed my bedroom blinds, I caught a glimpse of myself. My reflection belongs to a woman I don't recognize. The years are flying by, and although I have everything I ever wanted, I feel a vague inertia slowing my progress. Moods like this make it impossible to fall asleep.

Sighing, I snap on my lamp and grab one of the novels I have piled in a haphazard stack. Flipping the top book over, I ponder the author's portrait on the back cover. She's lounging on a bed, in a gossamer blouse, with her laptop open, and another of her novels close at hand. I try to imagine what innane pose I would strike on the back of a book jacket. It made me laugh, a little wistfully. Someday, I promise myself.

Someday I will have a laptop.

Two pages into the book, a faint buzzing penetrates the stillness, and grows to chainsaw pitch. A fly is drawn to my light. It flies inside the shade and begins ricocheting off the sides.

Buzz *bonk* buzz *bonk* buzzzzzzzz *bonk* buzz *bonk* buzz

I am finding it extraordinarily difficult to keep my mind on the story. The fly emerges from the top of the lampshade, and I take aim with the book, knocking the shade off-kilter and launching the fly on a journey around my bedroom. Mind over matter, I decide. I flop onto my stomach, arrange my pillow under my chin and prop the book up on the headboard.

Buzzzzz...the fly finishes it's lazy circle and lands with a plonk on the lampshade. It crawls inside and resumes the headbanging.

Buzz *bonk* buzz *bonk* buzzzzzzzz *bonk* buzz *bonk* buzz

Book in hand, I prepare to end this once and for all.

The fly alights on the bedside table. Wham! Another miss. My eyes narrow to a squint as I track its flight path. An attempt to thwack it on the wall above the bed nets me a throbbing thumb, crushed between the headboard and the seductively smiling author on the back cover.

Gritting my teeth in frustration, I leap to a combat ready stance in the middle of the mattress. I envision myself knocking the fly out of midair, since I can't seem to hit the thing on a surface. Heart pumping, I make a windmill-style swing from my knees. The momentum carries me head first off the edge of the bed. I land on the floor with a dull thud. In the other room, I hear a sleepy child call out, "Mommy?"

I mince to the door, uninjured except for my pride, and soothe the child. When I turn back to my bed, I see the tangle of blankets, the books that have tumbled to the floor, the crooked lampshade, all innocent victims of my bloodlust.

Panting from the aerobic exertion, I drag the covers back into place, and arm myself with an old Time magazine from the husband's side of the bed. At this stage of the battle, the fly has seen my moves with the book, and I want to have a lighter, more agile weapon.

My ears pricked up as a faint buzzing begins again. I close my eyes, using The Force. With a fancy whirl, I cut a slashing strike against the fly, and knock my lamp completely off the table. It hits the floor with an audible pop and cuts to black. I'm standing in the dark, clutching a rolled up magazine, muscles tensed, chest heaving.

I hear the dog's nails clicking down the hall. She's on her way to investigate what foolishness I'm undertaking. She hops up onto the foot of the bed, tags clanking. She stands alert as I remain motionless, listening to the water-torture worthy sound of The Effin Fly That Just Won't Die. Abandoning my Jedi training, I sit down on the edge of the bed and pout. As I reach down to yank the power cord for the lamp out of the socket, I hear the fly buzz towards the end of the bed.

With a crocodile-like thrust, the dog launched herself into the air and snatched the fly in her jaws. The Effin Fly was no more. I patted the dog, wind out of my sails, and crawled under the covers once more.

This time, sleep came almost immediately.

*editing to add* My Jedi name? Fly Gone Jen. (Hi, Kitty!)