Let me get this right, now – 99X is on 97.5. 99.7 is 100.5. Z93 is Dave FM (who’s Dave?). And 96 Rock is a Project. Got it. Reprogrammed the presets on the car radio, changed the clock to Eastern time, changed my default Zip code on the Weather Channel app on my BlackBerry. I must live here now.
I have been too tired to think and definitely too tired to type. Witty and thoughtful things have flitted through my mind, but I’ve not committed anything to paper. I should go back to the days of scribbling on cocktail napkins, I guess. But my cocktail napkin days are over – or severely limited, at best. Now I scribble on what, burp cloths? That makes no sense.
The days drag, but they also blend. I’ve decided that I don’t much like this Eastern time zone, even though I’ve lived in it for most of my life. By the time you’re up, the day’s gone, and by the time you look around, it’s 3 in the afternoon. Time for me is marked out in fluid ounces and catnaps, anyway. Maybe I haven’t measured it in coffee spoons, but I’ve definitely measured it in Dr. Brown’s bottles.
It feels like forever until we’ll achieve some kind of normal. I’m not panicky. But if I were a panicky sort of person, I’d have plenty to panic about. If the house doesn’t sell, and we all end up having to live at my parents’ house. If I don’t make enough money – or if I have to work as hard as I always have to make enough money, and I end up being unhappy and a crappy wife and mother. As I often have. If I can’t lose the weight. If I stop caring about losing the weight.
Thank goodness I’m not a panicky person.