M has a gig tonight. He called me on his way out the door & I told him that he could call back later because I would probably be up for a little while. Then I looked at the clock and...dear-god-it's-only-seven-fifteen-how-early-is-not-pathetic-early-to-go-to-bed-when-you're-twenty-five?
I feel like it's been three weeks since Monday. I can't really pinpoint when this week took a sharp turn towards crazy, but that's where I ended up. Every time someone has asked me lately how I've been, my answer is always: busy. (Note: I am not complaining. The girl who did not have a job for 10 months post-grad school is NOT complaining about having a job!) I'm so busy I can't remember what I did on Monday. I'm so busy during the day, I want to come home and watch mindless television (thank you, Bachelor) and eat (at 5:30 like a grandma) and go to bed.
Sounds interesting doesn't it? I'm so busy I can't think of something to write. Even my adjectives are lifeless.
Being busy had left me so tired that I'd rather not wax poetic. It nearly took an act of nature just to get me typing. How lazy is that? The mommyblogs make me feel like the laziest person ever. Two new posts a day and three sick kids, plus they work 78 hours at two full time jobs. What-ev-er. I'm busy too. I just don't have a baby. Or a husband. Or an animal. Or even a yard for goodness sake. How the hell would I be able to take care of all that? I understand more and more how people end up living in this:
(picture credit: www.anxietyandstress.com)
Because--COME ON--no one comes up to my apartment. It's JUST ME LIVING IN IT.
Ok. Not really. I'm no neat-nik, but I don't live in filth (most of the time...hmm maybe I should start the dishwasher).
In my delirium I've come to a couple of conclusions:
1. I don't feel bad for Conan O'Brian. He's walking with 45 mil. Cry. Me. A. River. If someone gave me 45 million dollars to NOT WORK, I would never work again.
2. Girls play stupid games. Like telling a man you don't want to see him & then getting pissed when he doesn't beg you to stay with him. OR telling a man he can't kiss you and then basically laying yourself out on a platter, uh uh uh NO kissing! Dear women of The Bachelor: I can't stop watching you, but I would appreciate it if you could shake off some of the sheer vapid-ness. Look, I know it's hard for most(/all) of you, but you're giving half of the rest of us a bad name, and the other half some bad ideas. So, I'm gonna throw it out there: Stop acting like morons. Or don't. Because then I'll have a busy day of work and nothing mindless to come home to. I take it all back.
Ok, that's all. In other news: College basketball makes my winter-world go round. GO HOOS (8 straight) and GO VOLS (who needs scholarship players?).
Heh, ridiculous ramblings tonight. I'm going to bed. I'll probably sleep until spring.
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