It's Friday, and this blessed day could not have come soon enough.  UGH! This week has dragged by and I've been a tired, bleary mess the whole time.  Today is the first day I've felt even remotely awake.  I started writing a post yesterday but didn't finish at work, and when I got home I was exhausted to the point of near delirium, and just took a bath and went to bed. I slept like a rock and dreamt that some friends and I met Jessica Simpson at a bar, and she pulled me aside and told me she had a crush on my friend Mike (yes, you, Bullard). Hahaha!

I finished the post today, and here it is:

Ouch, y'all. Daylight Savings hurts.  I usually wake up at 6:30 in order to get to work by 8, but now it's more like 5:30.  I know what you're thinking: I'm not the only one who had to Spring Forward, you're tired too, so stop being a baby.  Well, try this on for size:  Yesterday my cousin, who had come from Chicago and was visiting our other cousin in Simi Valley, called to say she had missed her flight out of Bob Hope Airport in Burbank (haha, Bob Hope Airport, Love it) and had gotten a hotel room up there, yet had rebooked her flight for this morning out of LAX.  Are you seeing where this is going?  Yes, I dragged my sorry ass out of bed at 5:30 (formerly 4:30) a.m, drove up to the farthest reaches of Burbank, picked her up along with her 3-month-old baby boy, packed a year's worth of luggage plus stroller plus carseat into the car, drove her to the airport, and drove myself to work, where I've been sitting for the last seven hours trying to focus on a computer screen, and look forward to three more hours of such fun and joy.

I tried to take a nap on my lunch break.  I drove to the top of the parking garage where it was sunny and warm, cracked the windows, and pulled out the pillow and chicken blanket from my trunk (for some reason in high school I purchased myself a blanket with a huge chicken in the middle and then smaller chickens lining the edges.  At this point I like it in an ironic way, the way people are wearing 80's clothes) (Please tell me they're wearing those clothes ironically) (and also it's the perfect size and weight for my car naps).  I climbed into the back seat, lay down, covered up with the chicken blanket, put the sleeve of a sweatshirt over my eyes, and lay there. and could not fall asleep. I was so tired my whole head burned and I felt shaky and nauseous, but I couldn't turn off my damn mind!  I could not stop the thinking!  And I knew I only had a small amount of time to fall asleep in order to get a worthwhile nap, and the pressure was too much.  It was unbearable, so when my phone alarm went off, I got up feeling just as bad as when I lay down.  OH, and I'm a little concerned because the top of the garage is actually about four stories below the windows of our office, and when I woke up I reached into my pants and scratched my butt (JUST THE CHEEK, MIND YOU. JUST THE CHEEK!), and I don't think anyone could see in my back window from up here even if they were looking, but I would be suuuuuuper embarrassed if anyone saw.  Not that I'm not just telling the whole enMaptire internet right now, should they choose to read this, but somehow it would be worse if someone actually witnessed it.

So anyway, back to my hellacious drive from my house (oh, actually Jeff's house, because he lives a teeny tiny bit closer to Burbank so I stayed there last night) to the Ramada Inn BFE, as I am officially calling it, all the way down to LAX, and then to work.  From Burbank, I took the 5 to the 110 to the 105.  I told my cousin her trip to So-Cal wouldn't be complete without an all-inclusive tour of the LA Freeway System, complete with gridlock traffic.  OH, and did I mention that Justin, the baby, was crying for the entire first half of the drive?  It was a cry so sad and pitiful it made my heart feel like it was going to explode out of my body.  I prayed the entire time, Please Lord, do not let me get in a car accident, if I kill this precious baby I will die a thousand deaths.  And that made me realize that although I am 27 and many, many people have at least one baby if not two or more by this age, I am far, far from being in a mental state to own a baby.  I would drive myself crazy with worry.  Why is the baby crying? Why is the baby frowning?  If I stab my ears out with forks in order to not hear the baby crying, would that be bad? Would it entertain the baby and make him happy to see me stab out my ears? If so, hand me the fork.  Or would it traumatize him? Here's the fork back, I refuse to traumatize the baby. OH, I just jostled the baby! Did I break him?  And now he's crying again.  I have broken the baby. The baby is broken and therefore I must go kill myself.

Can you see what I mean?  I'm a wreck, people, a nervous, tired wreck of a human being. 

For the sake of soliciting your sympathy, I am including a picture of a map I have made of my route from Jeff's house, to BFE Burbank/Bob Hope Land, to LAX, and then to work.  Consider that the map represents the entire Greater Los Angeles area, and then some. (not to scale).  And OH, my GOSH, I'm about to hurl my computer out the window, because I finally figured out how to add photos to this stupid blog, and I can't get the thumbnail to move from where it is to where I want it. Whether I set it for "bottom," "absolute bottom" or "baseline," it still shows up right in the middle of the post, not on the bottom of anything!  Augh!  Weekend! Weekend! Where are you!? I can smell you, you're near! Please, please, hurry!


1 Comment »

  1. 1
    atkeith Says:

    That’s freakin hilarious. Hey, maybe if I think it’s funny a baby will……

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