Greetings, beloved readers! I’m in the sprint between a work trip and a personal trip, and probably won’t be great about posting before I unplug entirely (but then hopefully, I’ll be back with tons and bunches of posts.) But here are some thoughts to tide you over:
1. Today is my 12th day straight of working. As a self-confessed workaholic, I’ve never really related to that 80s song about working for the weekend, but I’m so there.
2. I’m starting to feel like a bit of a bada**— I had been home from the work trip less than 24 hours when I had unpacked entirely, done my laundry, fixed the telescoping handle on the big suitcase I intend to take on the cruise, and a handful of other things that I found pretty impressive (if I do say so myself). My ability to clearly identify and manage lots of details without getting overwhelmed is a thing for which I’m very grateful. Also, my ability to do things like “fix the telescoping handle on my luggage”— yay for having both the tools and the chutzpah to make that happen! The part of me that has thought “I’m just going to have to throw out that bag” since it jammed two years ago is totally impressed. Now to figure out how to keep the WD-40 I used as a step from staining all the clothes I take on the trip…
3. Not enjoying getting older. A friend is having a get-together tonight at 7. I keep finding myself thinking “why does it have to start so late? Aren’t we all tired and ready to go to bed sooner than that?” The idea of having to go back out after work tonight makes me want to cry. Of course, the idea of doing anything other than napping kind of has me pouting (see item 1), so you might not want to go by me. In fairness, I don’t go to bed before 7— I seldom go to bed before midnight, which is probably why my eyes are crossing and I’m on the verge of tears on day 12 of 5 or 6 hours of sleep. But the idea of being in my house with my dog walked by 7 sounds pretty much like heaven to me, these days. Also, I’m 85 percent of the way through Wild, and once I hit the 75 percent mark in a book I’m enjoying, anything that distracts me from finishing it, no matter how welcome and/or joyous makes me pout.