Internet, do you ever have those weeks when you spend 90% of your waking hours anticipating all the activities that will happen in the following weeks, resulting in complete and utter paralysis to get anything at all accomplished in the present moment? And then do you spend the remaining 10% shoving artificially-flavored butter pretzels and swedish fish into your mouth in a futile attempt to stabilize your constantly-plummeting blood sugar?
No? Just me? Okay then.
This week has been a painfully slow one, especially for a crazy woman such as myself who functions best under a deadline. Ever since my elementary school days, I have firmly believed that art projects are best completed 3 hours before they are due, lines are best memorized just before the final dress rehearsal, and plays are never more beautifully written than when the author is scrambling for an ending 5 minutes before she has to get in the car to personally deliver the manuscript to the play festival organizer at her yoga class.
My play ended up making the cut, SO THERE. (Even though I don’t quite remember how I ended it.)
Right now, I have quite a few deadlines looming in my near future, but they’re looming just far away enough that…I can’t bring myself to do shit about them. These are the things that are currently on my to-do list:
- Finish making favors for my sister’s baby shower. Which I am hosting. THIS SUNDAY.
- Finish cleaning house for my sister’s baby shower. Which I am hosting. THIS SUNDAY.
- Memorize lines for paid acting gig that starts October 20 and requires that my lines be memorized on Day 1.
- Write play for January theatre project that has an October deadline. This is perhaps the most pathetic, because I don’t even remember what the deadline is; I’m just guessing I haven’t missed it because the project’s director hasn’t emailed me all, “So…where’s that play?” yet.
- COME UP WITH IDEA for January theatre project.
- Pray that January theatre project’s director does not read my blog.
So, yeah, there are some urgent things on that list. And yet, last night? When I had an entire evening to myself and even felt some semblance of energy and alertness past 5pm? I took a nap and watched the debates. Oh, and ate an ice cream sandwich.
YOU try telling my stomach that this wasn’t a pivotal part of my evening. I hope you have health insurance.
I know procrastinating on all these things is a colossally ignorant move on my part, especially because it will inevitably result in me shaking with self-pity sobs at 1am while I struggle to paint perfect block letters on ten one-inch by one-inch wood cubes, let them all dry, and attach perfectly-calligraphied name tags to each with pastel ribbon (with a perfect bow, natch), because once I get myself worked up over what an IDIOT I am for putting something like this off, I also tend to punish myself by insisting that NOTHING BUT PERFECTION is good enough to make up for my previous slack-assery.
In short, I am a real peach to be around.
Add to the mix the fact that Brad is insanely busy this week with a conference, and then leaves for Oregon on Sunday morning for another conference (methinks he is most wise for leaving the house roughly 3 hours before I have my shower-hosting meltdown), and we are just little balls of stress around the house this week. Well, actually, only Brad is a little ball of stress at present. I’m just napping and eating ice cream sammiches…for now.
I just hate being in that window of time right before things are about to get crazy-busy. From this weekend until Thanksgiving, I’ve got the shower, the play, my doctor’s appointments (including the to-penis-or-not-to-penis ultrasound – YAY!), tickets to a Steelers game (which will be sadly devoid of beer this year, but still: NACHOS), the in-laws’ 50th anniversary party, and Brad’s birthday. And on December 1st, my sister is all set to pop with her baby, which will unleash more (but very exciting) chaos on us all. So these are all very fun and happy events, but still: WHEN WILL I NAP? OR WATCH ROSEANNE RE-RUNS? OR HAVE TIME TO FIND THINGS IN THE KITCHEN TO MELT CHEESE ON AND CONSUME WITH HOT SAUCE?
Brad, if I ever leave you for a woman, it will be her.
Delving a little deeper, I think what is bugging me most is that by the time all this excitement dies down – probably early January, post-holidays – I will be six months pregnant. With only three months to go. That’s three months before my life changes forever and I am someone’s MOTHER.
Just the other morning, I was laying in bed half-awake, with all those weird half-awake thoughts running through my mind (“Where are my purple socks?””I have no idea when I last ate cabbage.”) when I suddenly thought, clear as day, “I should probably take those blue Old Navy pajama pants with me when I go into the hospital.”
Now, Internet, I don’t propose to understand my brain, as it is the very organ that deemed black acid washed jeans and a mustard yellow sweater a perfectly acceptable combination back in 1990, but WHERE THE FUCK DID THAT COME FROM?
But my brain is right: I’ll be in the hospital. In the near future. Pushing a baby through the ladyworks. And I should probably bring those blue pajama pants.
Until then? Here I sit. Paralyzed with the thought of everything to come, shoving edamame in my face and writing blog posts about essentially nothing, making plans to go out and buy pants that don’t slice me in half when I sit down, and fully prepared to beat the shit out of any coworker who dares to steal my pasta out of the fridge.
Looks remarkably like my cat, who will FREAK THE FUCK out when a baby is brought into our house and OH MY GOD I just remembered something else to worry about.
Entry filed under: Gobble-gobble.