Rumor has it we’re going to finish The Move this weekend.
Rumor also has it my significant other has listed “fishing” higher on the priority list than “cleaning,” “packing” or “communicating.”
First thing’s first: I worked almost 15 hours yesterday. And by “almost 15” I mean 14.75.
I know, I know. Not exactly bragging rights. People work almost 15 hours a day all the time, right?
Regardless, it’s been a busy week. I guess it goes with the territory but it’s just not in my blood! I try to be a trooper and persevere (and, if all goes well, end the day with a smile instead of trying to hold back the flood of curse words) but there’s a reason my mom found it necessary to buy me a T-shirt one year that says, “Job? Sorry, I’m not in that line of work.”
I still wear it.
Wednesday night, I was in the newsroom until midnight.
Last night, I was there until 2 a.m. And was back at 10 this morning. All in all, a 51-hour work week.
I don’t know where I’m going with this. I think I just want something to excuse my pure and utter EXHAUSTION and reluctance to do anything related to The Move. There are about 10 shirts piled on the desk right now that I could, theoretically, hang up to prepare for The Move (to move clothes, we’re simply leaving them on the hangars/in the drawers and throwing them in the car… we’re that awesome) butttttttttt… no.
However, my Mountain Dew’s gone and I don’t hesitate for a second to jump (literally) out of my chair to grab another.
Where was I going?
IN OTHER NEWS (I’m trying to see how many consecutive posts I can use that phrase in), I baby puppysat Wednesday night.
She’s a German shorthair, six (maybe seven?) weeks old and FRICKIN ADORABLE. I plan on stealing her sometime in the near future.