You know that terrible feeling when you wake up well-rested on a weekday, and the sun is actually way up in the sky and so forth? That was me this morning.
“Oh, HELL, why is the sun up?” I asked myself, grabbing my phone from bed.
8:08, my phone said happily. What did it care? It just had to phone. It didn’t have anything else to do. You know what it had to do on Sunday, though? It had to update. Ohhhh, it was soooooo intent on updating Sunday. So I let it, and you know what it did? It somehow disconnected the annoying-as-hell alarm on my iPhone, which won’t let you just have an alarm, no. You have to set up a whole go-to-bed PLAN where they dim all the lights sweet darlin’ a half hour before bed, and play you a sweet lullaby and tell you how long you slept and JUST SET THE ALARM OH MY GOD.
Anyway, so I bounded out of bed and fed everyone this morning, dashing to my laptop at 8:29, thinking, Oh, it’s the Monday after a holiday. They won’t have any work for copy edit to do anyway. It’ll be fine.
EMERGENCY! WARNING, WILL ROBINSON! DO THIS NOW! NO TIME TO SPARE!
I was wrong.
So that was my breakneck morning, and now it’s lunchtime and I’m writing to you from the confines of my robe, as I have not yet showered and I’d like you to take time out and also take your tines out—go ahead, get your forks—to appreciate that I am prioritizing this blog over my hygiene.
While I was working this morning on emergency projects, on projects that required I administer 10CCs of Ringer’s Lactate and transport, I got many pieces of mail at the door, many deliveries, a thing that did not drive Edsel berserk or anything.
First, Faithful Reader Andrea, from whom I stole Forest*, sent me some of my romance magazines, and it is all I can do to not call in sick and read them all day long. I can’t wait to see if she picks her husband or God in this one!
(*When I found Forest I said, I cannot have a 4th cat. That would be insane. “I’ll take him,” said Andrea, who lives 6,392,40302 miles away. She planned a big road trip to come get her a Forest. Then on the day before she was to arrive, we talked and decided I should keep him. Then he fluffed out and got smokey and she has resented me ever since. The end.)
Then, after that, boxes came from my mother and I can’t remember if she said go ahead and open them or don’t open them till Christmas and EVERYTHING IS TOO HARD.
Then after THAT, a box came from FR Kris.
She made me an afghan and LOOK HOW PRETTY.
So now all I have to do is get through this day and then I can SIT THERE, like a LUMP, and read romance magazines under my afghan until my phone plays me a lullaby and tells me when to go to bed.
I’d also better go shower with what is left of my lunch hour, as I have a Hugh Hefner robe look that I am not pulling off in the same manner he did. How come he looked suave and come hither and I look clinically depressed?
Before I go, just now that pretty ornament that I hung from the wreath just up and jumped off the wall, there, and crashed to its death. Ding DANG it. granted, I had it hanging off a branch precariously AF, but that’s beside the point.
P.S. And another thing. This weekend, I put on Facebook pictures of my Christmas decorations, and I said, “If you see things I can move around, tell me.” This apparently was everyone’s invitation to remark on just everything, when what I wanted was, you know, “Move that ornament in front of that whatever” and everyone said they hate tinsel. Do you hate tinsel? I love tinsel.