Some words

Despite getting up at 7:00 AM -- thoroughly against my will, mind you -- I was still 15 minutes late to work this morning. That's what happens when one innocently checks email prior to getting ready for work ... and spends an hour writing a letter. It was a good letter. It's good for me to write. It keeps me sane ... or as sane as I get.

The problem was getting in the shower at 8:30 when I should be out the door at 8:45. Post-shower, I was pulling on pantyhose, sliding into heels, buttoning the cuffs on my oh-so-corporate shirt. I was finding words to read at a poetry reading. I was trying to find some foil in which to wrap cold pizza, the breakfast of champions. I was trying to get my cats to stop rubbing against my black slacks. I was wondering who messes up my apartment when I'm at work. (I blame the cats.) I wasn't hurrying in any way, shape, or form. I guess it's the knowledge that I can stay 15 minutes late tonight and make up my time that makes punctuality a non-issue for me. Perhaps I didn't care because I spend so much of my time at work not actually working. What am I in a rush to get to, exactly? My desk? The chance to obsessively check my email? One more day of posting blogs and posts to various sites, pretending to be working when someone comes near my desk? Am I that unhappy in this job?

I don't think I'm unhappy. I've just fallen behind in my work and instead of completing some tasks, I'm ignoring them like they'll go away. I think it's post-road-trip exhaustion. I've gone to bed between 9:30 and 10:30 PM the last two nights and I'm still waking up beat down like I've been dragged behind a truck all night. I did miss my weekend naps in favor of traipsing around Chicago with a bunch of fellow sapphites. I traded naps to drink juice at Einstein's, play with sex toys at Tulip, and breakfast at Ann Sather's. It was good and I'd do it again in a heartbeat. But let me just lie down real quick before we go.