Got up at 4:30 in the morning to drive Boy to the airport. Yeah, that’s right. FOUR-THIRTY. Guess who’s on my shit list.
I love to sleep. It is my absolute favorite thing to do in the world. And I’m super cranky if I don’t get at least six hours, eight is better, of sleep a night. Lily came over last night after softball, so I was up until midnight, and…well, you do the math.
When you’re the boss, a cranky you makes for a bad day for everyone. So guess who’s on everyone’s shit list. Yeah, that right, The Boy.
At least he’s having a good time.
He went up to New Jersey for the graduation of the high school class he was in when we lived there three years ago. Because we have family there, he gets to visit still from time-to-time. And say what you will about South Jersey, but if it’s a negative word, you’ve never lived there. The people are awesome. And the food’s fairly awesome, too.
So Boy is gone for two weeks. This is what living alone will feel like. Dog and Dog’s Cat and I are having a very nice conversation about how long it’s been since they’ve eaten or been outside.
Oh God! They weren’t kidding about Empty Nest Syndrome. It’s real. And I’m going to be one of those weird old ladies who talk to their animals and cook more food than one person could possibly eat. Heaven preserve us!
Ack! And says stuff like “Heaven preserve us.”
Anyway, I’m super busy with life right now, and I haven’t eaten a thing in days besides cheese and crackers. I’m almost too busy. It’s a fairly frantic existence. Work, work out, yoga, barn, study for the GRE, learn French. When did life begin to consist of chores? Is it wrong that I’m already mentally redecorating Boy’s room? How can I ever have enough hours in the day to get everything done?
And, yet, at some point it did, it isn’t completely wrong, and I do somehow have enough time.
Or so the dog and cat have convinced me.