The boys came home and my universe rights itself. I slept last night. I slept like a stone. I didn’t move. I didn’t wake at 4:11am to empty the bladder that competes with that of a race horse for capacity during the day but transforms into a teacup at night. I slept like the champion sleeper I have always been. Sleep is a precious commodity when in short supply. The author Jennifer Weiner captured the madness that metastasizes in the mind of a non-sleeping new mother in her book Little Earthquakes. I have often suggested this novel for people to read so they can understand the insanity sleeplessness causes. I am not an ‘oversleeper’. I am not one of these people who sleeps to escape or avoid. As long as my sleep is high quality and includes dreaming and runs undisturbed, six hours is more than sufficient. Fracture my sleep, impede my ability to dream and 10 hours of aggregate sleep won’t matter. It sounds cliche to blame my sleep disturbances on hormones and menopause. I loathe the idea that at my young age, my body’s programming is insubordinate to my plans. It seems wired to make the transition into the Silent Ovary state. I speak of this as if it is an impending event when in reality it has already happened. The mind simply capitulates at the reality. The coup is over.If I am to be honest and record history accurately, my sleep has been fractured for a few years, my hypercreativity accelerated as my follicles started falling offline; all that creative chi redirected to other endeavors or creation and birth. So, I have begun to frame this new state as a new ‘energy plan’. I shall convert from a reproduction facility to a simple production facility. I will retrofit my production line to make things and build ideas, since I have ceased production of the possibility of making other people. I have made all the people I will ever make. And when they occupy my home and sleep under my roof, all if right in my universe.