Our machinations make us deities - or at least are designed with that purpose in mind. We research, we notate, we synthesize, and, ultimately, we create.
But once it's all there, a plan on paper, we realize, once again, that while the creation is indubitably magnificent (or maybe just a piece of crap that we're slightly embarrassed of), we, the creators, are only human. The day has been long, and we are tired and spent.
We abandon our creation, our plan, our machination, leaving the paper fluttering against the grainy faux-wood of the table, and throw ourselves, exhausted, into bed. We are not omniscient, for all we know, as our heads sink into the pillow, is that a moment (of some variety) has passed.
Our eyes flutter closed, eyelashes resting, like the pull-tabs of blinds, against the sills of our cheeks. From there, we sleep.
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