For many weeks or months, I seemed to have lost the ability to sleep for more than eight and a half hours at a time. This was, of course, very handy, since time spent sleeping, while the most deliciously comfortable part of the day, is also more utilitarian than anything and it's nice when the buzzing of the alarm clock occurs at approximately the same time your body is thinking about waking up. I have, however, regressed. I slept for 10 hours last night and woke up at 12:49. That would be p.m. (Yes, I'm aware that the beginning of the problem was the fact that I didn't get to sleep until 3 a.m. But this is what weekends are for! They are for mojitos after work with a colleague and a short nap and taking the train out to a friend's house and wandering aimlessly around the grocery store looking for blue dye for a t-shirt and eating second helpings of strawberry shortcake and ice cream and smoking apple-flavored tobacco in the hookah while drinking margaritas and getting locked out of my building because the unlocking mechanism stopped working. See? Fun!) Unfortunately, the big project of weeks of yore plumb tuckered me out and seems to have regressified me right back to my post-law school days when I routinely slept 10 or 12 hours a night. That or the schistosomiasis is back. Heh heh.
The other day, my coworker A. and I (she happens to be from Liberia! Yay!) went shopping at lunch time. We wandered through the bag section of the store because my bag-o-everything that I carry to work every day is falling apart but we had picked the wrong store, so our bag shopping went more like, "This bag is nice... [gasp, fainting]. Or not. It is $456." Then we found the shoe section, which was an unfair level of temptation, especially since they had the ever-revered clearance racks. There was a pair of sparkly shoes there in my size and I started doing that annoying thing I do wherein one thing reminds me of another and suddenly I'm saying "There's no place like home. There's no place like home." and clicking my heels together in the middle of M@cy's as if my black flats have suddenly turned into ruby slippers. The problem is that I messed up the heel clicking and clicked my ankle bones together instead and yelled out in pain and went staggering hunched over in agony all around the shoe section. I am, in fact, a highly trained professional!
On the plus side, I did manage to persuade A. to spend too much of her meager salary (I know the meager-ness of which I speak; I have the same salary) on some silvery sandals with braided straps up the side. So that was an accomplishment.
The other day, my coworker A. and I (she happens to be from Liberia! Yay!) went shopping at lunch time. We wandered through the bag section of the store because my bag-o-everything that I carry to work every day is falling apart but we had picked the wrong store, so our bag shopping went more like, "This bag is nice... [gasp, fainting]. Or not. It is $456." Then we found the shoe section, which was an unfair level of temptation, especially since they had the ever-revered clearance racks. There was a pair of sparkly shoes there in my size and I started doing that annoying thing I do wherein one thing reminds me of another and suddenly I'm saying "There's no place like home. There's no place like home." and clicking my heels together in the middle of M@cy's as if my black flats have suddenly turned into ruby slippers. The problem is that I messed up the heel clicking and clicked my ankle bones together instead and yelled out in pain and went staggering hunched over in agony all around the shoe section. I am, in fact, a highly trained professional!
On the plus side, I did manage to persuade A. to spend too much of her meager salary (I know the meager-ness of which I speak; I have the same salary) on some silvery sandals with braided straps up the side. So that was an accomplishment.
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