I’ve worked for the last eleven days straight, and in the last three have gotten a combined total of about ten hours of sleep… and that’s if you count the half hour I spent inadvertently drooling on my laptop on a flight home from Atlanta yesterday.
I have six brooms in progress… two for orders that need to ship two days ago and four for a gallery about an hour away that wants to sell them.
I also have a four foot long crack in my kitchen drywall, a cat that just fell in the full-of-water bathtub twice, and five pounds to lose before the end of March.
I was working this evening and my boss asked me if I could handle such-and-such project, and as you would expect my answer was, “Of course I can handle it. I’m totally fine. Why?” To which he replied, “Do you own a mirror?”
I am utterly exhausted.
It’s written in the creases of my face, the circles under my eyes, the one half of my hair that is sticking straight up from the top of my head. Its a comfortable kind of exhaustion that comes with the promise of a very good nights sleep.
Which, despite brooms and cats and laundry and drywall, I’m giving in to right this minute.