I am not having a good week.
What I am having is one of those weeks that makes one question the wisdom of getting up and leaving the apartment in the morning. Yesterday, one of my colleagues got off a phone call and announced to the room in general “I’m tempted to jump out the window, but we’re on the first floor, so what’s the point?” and I knew exactly what she meant. When jumping out the window isn’t worth the effort, you’re in trouble.
I’ve had houseguests all week, and while I have no objection to houseguests, Zelda Fitzgerald takes exception to them. Perhaps if they hadn’t shut her up in my bedroom Monday night, she’d be feeling more gracious. Instead, she has decided to retaliate by going completely and inexplicably bear-sick between 2 and 4 a.m. Last night she was on a mission to kill the bathmat for about half an hour. When I got up and shut her out of the bathroom, she decided to run laps through the apartment like it was the Indy 500. She finally settled down exactly 10 minutes before my alarm went off.
I’ve been getting up earlier this week anyway – three people are sharing my one bathroom – and arriving in the office at 8:30 a.m. It’s amazing what a difference half an hour makes. By that I mean I’ve realized I should probably get in at seven in order to get everything done.
This weekend is already packed with volunteering for NARAL (Saturday) and interviewing people (Sunday). When they said “no rest for the wicked”, I thought they were kidding. Fuck.
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