Inelastic time

It's after midnight, Harry's snores are tumbling down the stairs, and even the cat has rolled herself up for the night.  How much longer before the tenacles of sleep wrap themselves around her, dragging her head down to the table? 

Kate glances at the clock.  Ten more minutes until that last load of laundry is dry, and she can crawl into bed.  She scrawls one more note on the pad, tears off the sheets and tacks them firmly to the bulletin board in the kitchen. 

She gathers herself up and heads to the basement.  With luck, Diana won't need to deal with the diapers before she gets back.  Her sister has more than done her time on diaper detail.  She folds the last diaper and tucks them into the basket.

Her suitcase is packed and hidden in the closet near the front door, the tickets to Chicago tucked in her purse along with the one pair of matching white gloves she could find.  Sleep is the only thing left on the list to tick off.  One a.m.?  Oh God, five hours just isn't enough.  She can hear John's sigh now,  "Time is not infinitely elastic, Kate. It's not like one of your surfaces."