Since I’m the CEO, CFO and TOO (that’s time out officer) in zoeyjane land, I’m taking pause.
Since this is what I should be doing tonight:
- reading a book
- doing two days’ worth of dishes, including every damn sippy cup we own
- bathing, in some fashion
- washing off my killer hot pink eyeshadow and blue mascara
- writing summaries for my blawgs that a mommy friend wants to list on her forum
- emailing my grandfather
- updating my budget
- getting onto the social whoring sites about my new blawg
- quitting one of my blawgs, officially
- crocheting
- baking
- organizing receipts for one of my clients and starting fourth quarter entry
- finishing a database for another client
- drafting my engagement letter for yet another client
- cleaning off the highchair
- sweeping and mopping
- updating my to do list,
instead, I’m going to bed.
Do you know when the last time I slept before 11pm was? Hell, before 1am? When I was pregnant. Seriously, it’s been about two years.
And this whole sleep at 2am, wake up at some point during the night and then also get up at 6am? Not happening. What is happening? Stay awake as long as possible and sleep as late as possible. Not so great for the routine and the productivity ninjas have a definite problem with it. They’ve steadily been roundhousing my ass further and further into nodsville, earlier and earlier.
Aside: has anyone, ever, encountered either good service or a non-airheaded server at the Cactus Club? Ever have both? Me, neither. The best moment of stupid-girlville tonight when we went for Ellenrose’s birthday dinner was when Isobel had ketchup on her face and our walking cleavage, I mean, prostitute, I mean dedicated hospitality provider pointed at her and said, “oh, you’re dirty.” Ah-huh.
