Today marks my second full day without Facebook. Not quite there -- only 43 hours so far.
You remember how I said I didn't have time to miss Facebook yesterday?
WELL I HAVE TIME NOW.
I have a paper due at midnight tonight. I'm only somewhat familiar with the material, and I have no idea what topic I'm going to choose to write on. I can't just phone it in. For one thing, I adore this professor and I have this ridiculous desire to make him acknowledge that I'm clever (because clever is kind of like attractive and that would somehow validate my little-girl crush on him -__-"). Even if I didn't need to distinguish myself, I've taken two other classes with Mozina and he's well aware of my general writing level. If I write a shitty paper, he'll call me on it because he knows I can do better.
It's due in 6 hours. I haven't started writing yet. I haven't even finished rereading the article yet. I'm staring at the address bar of my internet browser with an almost feral hunger. Give. me. my. social. media.
Immediately.
I'm weird as far as procrastinators go. I don't procrastinate because I don't want to do the work. I'm actually interested in seeing where my brain decides to take this paper. (My essays tend to feel much more like a reading experience than a writing experience -- I rarely feel like I'm "in control" of a paper.) For me, procrastination is actually a productive element to my writing process. I have to procrastinate to the point that I'm absolutely sure that there's no way I could possibly finish on time. That makes me panic. Then I ride the panic/adrenaline-rush as a strange sort of inspiration and dive into the project with a fervor. For me, that last minute panic isn't a passive result of procrastination -- it's the whole point.
It's tactical procrastination.
And now my major procrastination sources are gone. I did most of my cleaning on Tuesday when I was studying for a Hebrew Bible exam. I could feasibly clean now, but it wouldn't make me feel productive. And I normally spam Facebook with several messages about the general state of my procrastination process and/or the various things I'd rather be doing. Then I eventually get around to actually writing the paper and I gloat about it, also on Facebook.
Now I'm worried that I'm going to miss the moment that triggers my last-minute panic and I'm NOT going to panic and then I'm ACTUALLY going to fail this paper.
Also, completely unrelated: I did Jillian Michaels' 30 Day Shred program for the first time today. More specifically, I did the first 15 minutes of Week One. For those keeping track at home, that's less than 1/3 of a single day's workout. I feel like my legs have been beaten with clubs. Heavy clubs. Clubs with nails on them.
The initial plan was to do the Couch to 5k running program on Mondays, Wednesdays and whatever day I have off, and then do the 30 Day Shred program on work days. In reality, if I do that, my body is apt to keel over dead from exhaustion.
So for now, I'm going to take it slow. When the weather is cool enough, I'll take Haven for a run with me on the Couch to 5k program. If the weather is either too hot or too rainy, I'll take a break for a day or do the 30 Day Shred inside. Probably the former. Let's be serious -- push-ups and crunches kick my ass. Squats? Whatthefuck is a squat? (PAINFUL, that's what.)
Still no writing. No fiction, no essay. This has to change by midnight or Professor Mozina is going to be angry with me.
Even worse! What if he's all understanding? "Just get it to me in a reasonable amount of time." aflkjasflkjsfdlksfd I couldn't handle it. I have to write this paper. It has to be amazing. It has to be finished by midnight. OR ELSE.
And on that note, I'm off to find a new method to procrastinate.
Friday, September 23, 2011
TWFSS, Day One in Retrospect
Yesterday, I was too busy to notice that I'd disabled Facebook. On the flip side, I was also too busy to write.
My morning started at 5:00am, which is not the hallmark of a good morning. I work at a dog daycare, which is fantastic. I love the work, I love (most of) the dogs, I really respect my boss and coworkers. All around, it's a great place.
But.
It opens for customers at 7:00am.
Which means the staff has to be there at 6:30 to feed and care for the boarding dogs.
And it's around 45 minutes away from my house.
So. Morning shift = waking up at 5:00am. That's fine. I'm actually starting to get used to it. My body has been waking up at 4:55 for the past two weeks in anticipation of my alarm going off -- that's a good sign, right? But there's something that feels viscerally wrong about waking up before the sun has even thought about kissing the horizon. Going to bed then, sure. But waking up? What am I, a fucking rooster? I am NOT. We civilized folk are very firm in our disbelief in the hours between 4am and 10am. No self-respecting college student has ever seen them. We believe them to be mythological.
So I hauled my sorry ass out of bed, more sorry than usual because of the hour. Showered, fed the pups, got them both ready to go to work with me (reason #97 why my job is better than yours). Normal morning.
There was construction on I-85, and I remembered the godawful traffic jam from the previous Thursday morning. Thinking myself quite clever, I took the alternate route through town. I even remembered to leave early so I'd have time for stop-lights. I was responsible. It was a novel feeling.
I worked with Stephanie yesterday. Steph's pleasant to work with -- socially, she's much closer to my level than most of the other employees. (Except I'm about a thousand times more awkward, but that's just how I roll.) We got the dogs fed very quickly and everyone was playing politely. Nice morning.
Time passed. I started to feel uneasy. Shouldn't the daycare dogs be here by now? After a few more minutes, I voiced this concern to Stephanie. She was likewise confused. She went up to the front desk to see who was running the check-in portion of the business while we were taking care of the dogs.
No one.
And that was when my whole mind started shouting "OH SHIT."
It's not just a little fuck-up, dear reader. I checked the clock -- it was 8:00am. Our doors are supposed to open at 7. Roughly 90% of our customers for the day arrive between 7:30 and 8:00. At the absolute minimum, we lost $150 in daycare sales that day.
And then there's boarding. At least two customers were scheduled to start boarding stays yesterday that never arrived -- I can only assume that they tried to drop off during the hour when Stephanie and I thought someone else was running the front desk. So there goes another $40 per dog, per day.
And as the shit topping on the shit cake, it means our customers had their dogs in the car with them on the way to work. Were half a dozen people late to work because they had to drive their pampered pooches back home? Did Camp Bow Wow get a sudden business boost down the road? Did people spontaneously celebrate Bring Your Dog To Work Day? All I know is that we royally fucked up.
And as soon as I realized this, Nicole the store owner's face appeared in the door window, looking frantic. "Why are you both down here? Why is no one up at the front desk?"
"Because I've never worked the front desk before and I didn't know I was supposed to." Even though it was true, it sounded so lame, even to me.
"It's 8:00. Weren't you curious when none of the daycare dogs came in?"
I swallowed. "It was storming. I thought they might have.. left... their dogs at home..."
To make matters worse, Nicole had texted me and Stephanie while we were working in the room. Mind you, I don't have a texting plan on my phone. It charges me a ridiculous amount of money per opened text, and everyone in my life knows not to text me.
Except Nicole.
Like good employees, Stephanie and I both had our phones off in the dog playroom. Neither of us received the texts that said one of us should run the front desk while the other worked with the dogs.
It was pretty much fail in all directions. I guess that's what I'm saying.
I'm panicky about being reprimanded. Even a mild scolding, if I feel like I deserve it, is enough to completely shatter my sense of confidence for several days. I could feel my body locking up when Nicole was talking to us. I like Nicole. She's a fantastic store owner. Barring this one incident, I've never seen her get angry with someone. She's very level-headed and rational, which is an amazing trait to find in someone in a management position. I work harder for Nicole than I've worked for any of my previous jobs because I don't want to disappoint her -- she sets a very high standard. So historically, I had no reason to be terrified of her. But I was. I wasn't QUITE at the stage that I would call a full-blown anxiety attack, but my whole body was slowly going rigid and I couldn't meet her eyes. A few minutes longer and it would have escalated into an anxiety attack. Thankfully, the scolding was brief, and she walked out of the room before I had to (which was important because, as mentioned, my muscles lock up when I'm afraid and I was having difficulty walking with any semblance of dignity).
I spent the rest of the day cringing and ultra-submitting any time anyone so much as looked at me.
Got home and went to sleep at 4pm in an attempt to unwind. Dreamed that I was late to work and got fired. Woke up and saw that my alarm clock said "10:30." Panicked. Panicked so hard. Then I realized that the light in my room was coming from my lamp, not the window. 10:30 PM. I resumed breathing.
I was only awake and at home for 3 hours yesterday, between 10:30pm and 1:30am. The desire to check Facebook wasn't particularly strong. Nor was the desire to write, though -- too emotionally drained. My plan was to sleep until I didn't care any more.
Instead, I just ended up sleeping until this morning's alarm clock went off. Woke up at 5am. Got to work by 6:30am. Didn't fuck up today. I guess that's good.
Nicole's still mad at me. I can feel it. I don't blame her, either. I'd be livid. What if I lost her a regular customer? What if someone was so disgusted by that customer service that they decided to never come back? Because I was stupid. Because I didn't question the fact that none of the daycare dogs had arrived at the time they usually come in.
And now I'm just angsting. That's what I'm here for, I guess. I'm going to open Scrivener in an hour or two. I want to have most of TEP outlined closely by the end of the week.
I'm glad I just wrote that sentence. It reminded me that I have a paper due in 5 hours and I have absolutely no idea what I'm writing about (and it's for my most demanding professor, whom I adore).
Can it just be November already?
My morning started at 5:00am, which is not the hallmark of a good morning. I work at a dog daycare, which is fantastic. I love the work, I love (most of) the dogs, I really respect my boss and coworkers. All around, it's a great place.
But.
It opens for customers at 7:00am.
Which means the staff has to be there at 6:30 to feed and care for the boarding dogs.
And it's around 45 minutes away from my house.
So. Morning shift = waking up at 5:00am. That's fine. I'm actually starting to get used to it. My body has been waking up at 4:55 for the past two weeks in anticipation of my alarm going off -- that's a good sign, right? But there's something that feels viscerally wrong about waking up before the sun has even thought about kissing the horizon. Going to bed then, sure. But waking up? What am I, a fucking rooster? I am NOT. We civilized folk are very firm in our disbelief in the hours between 4am and 10am. No self-respecting college student has ever seen them. We believe them to be mythological.
So I hauled my sorry ass out of bed, more sorry than usual because of the hour. Showered, fed the pups, got them both ready to go to work with me (reason #97 why my job is better than yours). Normal morning.
There was construction on I-85, and I remembered the godawful traffic jam from the previous Thursday morning. Thinking myself quite clever, I took the alternate route through town. I even remembered to leave early so I'd have time for stop-lights. I was responsible. It was a novel feeling.
I worked with Stephanie yesterday. Steph's pleasant to work with -- socially, she's much closer to my level than most of the other employees. (Except I'm about a thousand times more awkward, but that's just how I roll.) We got the dogs fed very quickly and everyone was playing politely. Nice morning.
Time passed. I started to feel uneasy. Shouldn't the daycare dogs be here by now? After a few more minutes, I voiced this concern to Stephanie. She was likewise confused. She went up to the front desk to see who was running the check-in portion of the business while we were taking care of the dogs.
No one.
And that was when my whole mind started shouting "OH SHIT."
It's not just a little fuck-up, dear reader. I checked the clock -- it was 8:00am. Our doors are supposed to open at 7. Roughly 90% of our customers for the day arrive between 7:30 and 8:00. At the absolute minimum, we lost $150 in daycare sales that day.
And then there's boarding. At least two customers were scheduled to start boarding stays yesterday that never arrived -- I can only assume that they tried to drop off during the hour when Stephanie and I thought someone else was running the front desk. So there goes another $40 per dog, per day.
And as the shit topping on the shit cake, it means our customers had their dogs in the car with them on the way to work. Were half a dozen people late to work because they had to drive their pampered pooches back home? Did Camp Bow Wow get a sudden business boost down the road? Did people spontaneously celebrate Bring Your Dog To Work Day? All I know is that we royally fucked up.
And as soon as I realized this, Nicole the store owner's face appeared in the door window, looking frantic. "Why are you both down here? Why is no one up at the front desk?"
"Because I've never worked the front desk before and I didn't know I was supposed to." Even though it was true, it sounded so lame, even to me.
"It's 8:00. Weren't you curious when none of the daycare dogs came in?"
I swallowed. "It was storming. I thought they might have.. left... their dogs at home..."
To make matters worse, Nicole had texted me and Stephanie while we were working in the room. Mind you, I don't have a texting plan on my phone. It charges me a ridiculous amount of money per opened text, and everyone in my life knows not to text me.
Except Nicole.
Like good employees, Stephanie and I both had our phones off in the dog playroom. Neither of us received the texts that said one of us should run the front desk while the other worked with the dogs.
It was pretty much fail in all directions. I guess that's what I'm saying.
I'm panicky about being reprimanded. Even a mild scolding, if I feel like I deserve it, is enough to completely shatter my sense of confidence for several days. I could feel my body locking up when Nicole was talking to us. I like Nicole. She's a fantastic store owner. Barring this one incident, I've never seen her get angry with someone. She's very level-headed and rational, which is an amazing trait to find in someone in a management position. I work harder for Nicole than I've worked for any of my previous jobs because I don't want to disappoint her -- she sets a very high standard. So historically, I had no reason to be terrified of her. But I was. I wasn't QUITE at the stage that I would call a full-blown anxiety attack, but my whole body was slowly going rigid and I couldn't meet her eyes. A few minutes longer and it would have escalated into an anxiety attack. Thankfully, the scolding was brief, and she walked out of the room before I had to (which was important because, as mentioned, my muscles lock up when I'm afraid and I was having difficulty walking with any semblance of dignity).
I spent the rest of the day cringing and ultra-submitting any time anyone so much as looked at me.
Got home and went to sleep at 4pm in an attempt to unwind. Dreamed that I was late to work and got fired. Woke up and saw that my alarm clock said "10:30." Panicked. Panicked so hard. Then I realized that the light in my room was coming from my lamp, not the window. 10:30 PM. I resumed breathing.
I was only awake and at home for 3 hours yesterday, between 10:30pm and 1:30am. The desire to check Facebook wasn't particularly strong. Nor was the desire to write, though -- too emotionally drained. My plan was to sleep until I didn't care any more.
Instead, I just ended up sleeping until this morning's alarm clock went off. Woke up at 5am. Got to work by 6:30am. Didn't fuck up today. I guess that's good.
Nicole's still mad at me. I can feel it. I don't blame her, either. I'd be livid. What if I lost her a regular customer? What if someone was so disgusted by that customer service that they decided to never come back? Because I was stupid. Because I didn't question the fact that none of the daycare dogs had arrived at the time they usually come in.
And now I'm just angsting. That's what I'm here for, I guess. I'm going to open Scrivener in an hour or two. I want to have most of TEP outlined closely by the end of the week.
I'm glad I just wrote that sentence. It reminded me that I have a paper due in 5 hours and I have absolutely no idea what I'm writing about (and it's for my most demanding professor, whom I adore).
Can it just be November already?
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
The Week Facebook Stood Still (TWFSS)
This afternoon, I updated my Facebook status approximately once every hour during the time that I was (a) conscious and (b) at home.
That's so incredibly sad.
I didn't leave my computer. I wasn't doing anything. I was just spewing my thoughts to the whole wide world, rather like what I'm doing at the moment. They weren't silly thoughts, for the most part, but they were passive. It made me realize exactly how much of my life has been eclipsed by social media. I didn't like the feeling.
Several days ago, I realized something. My writing productivity plummeted in 2007. I know this. Previously, I had blamed the decline on college. I was in South Carolina. I had a social life to maintain. I didn't have time to putter around in my own head like I'd done in high school when I was a complete outcast (and relatively happy that way). But for the past year, I've been back in North Carolina. I have no social life here. Whatsoever. If I'm lucky, I leave my house once a week for something that isn't work or school related. Usually it's even less often than that. To say "I don't get out much" is a ridiculous understatement. This is pretty much where I was in high school, or as close as I can simulate while still (a) keeping my job and (b) living with my dogs.
So it wasn't college. What else changed in 2007?
I joined Facebook.
And I started to wonder -- is that where all my words went? Have I started stalking Facebook feeds instead of fantasy worlds? It seems more than probable.
So for the next week, I've disabled my ability to access Facebook. I posted a message to say that I'd be away, and I set StayFocusd (an anti-procrastination app for Chrome) to block Facebook for the next 168 hours.
I don't have a wordcount goal for how much I'd like to accomplish in my internet sabbatical. This is more of an experiment than an attempt to spur myself to some creative goal. It's not that I want to complete X by the time I enable Facebook again, but rather, that I want to see what will have been completed when StayFocusd gives me my social media fix again at 10:30pm next Wednesday.
It's been an hour. Not even. In that time, I've written this blog post and around 1,000 words on my outline for The Empty People. I'm trying to write a detailed, blow-by-blow outline of TEP in freewriting style. It's not about eloquence, but I want to be able to see the whole story from beginning to end in one concrete place. I think that could be easily divided into the phases I was aiming for earlier, and those will comfortably help me finish this beast. I'm feeling Yosseval again. Finn still needs to be more human. You can't have an antagonist who reads like an irresponsible frat boy. Or at least, that doesn't suit this properly.
That's a really good analogy for Finn, though. Finn and Sodaine -- the irresponsible frat boys who are going to be running the kingdom in ten years.
The NaNo urge is flaring up again. I blame the weather. Every time the air starts to get a little crisp, every time that brief kiss of autumn dances closer, my fingers itch for the keyboard and my mind turns toward fiction. It's remarkably predictable. You could set your calendar by it. The NaNo countdown today said 40 days remaining. Cue annual late-September panic. So I'm going to try to bash my way through to the end of plotting The Empty People by writing this freewriting outline. I'd like to be done by the time October starts. Then I want to start establishing some serious writer habits. Not the "I'll write when I have time" bullshit that I normally spout, but a real schedule. I'd like to write at least a thousand words a day in October, then move up to NaNo quota once November starts. That seems very reasonable.
I read the blog of an author the other day. Judging by what I gleaned from her blog writing, she's mediocre at best. That's fine -- mediocre and published is still better than me. I looked at the wordcounts she was pulling in, and it seemed silly, almost. Less than a thousand words a day, most of the time. But she's published. She took the slow-and-steady path, and damned if she didn't win the race. So I tell myself that this year, I'm not necessarily going to be slow, but I want to try to learn how to be steady.
I didn't think the Facebook urge would strike as quickly as it did. 200 words into my summary of TEP, I could feel my alt+tab fingers getting trigger-happy. What would I tell Facebook about the paragraph I just wrote? Did they need to know that I was starting to outline the whole novel? I stopped myself from minimizing the window at least twenty times in that thousand words. Once every fifty words. Using average sentences, that's around once every paragraph.
My god, I'm pathetic.
I'm allowed to have this blog, which I fully expect no one will read. It's here for Posterity And Things, not for mere mortals. Or something pretentious like that. I'm allowed to use Skype. I'm allowed to do pretty much anything, actually, except access Facebook. And I'm going to try to avoid getting my media fix via forums, because I hadn't been doing that before this experiment started. I don't want to jump from one manifestation to another -- I want to see what happens when I quit social media cold turkey for seven days.
NOW it has been a full hour. Total words written: 1787. 100 words above NaNo quota in an hour. The first hour. JUST the first hour.
I have no idea what my emotions are going to be like at the end of this week. Will I be frantic to get back to my social media, to throw myself back into the fold? Will I feel relieved, vindicated, victorious to have completed some massive RL undertaking while my Facebook feed was idle? Will I even want to go back?
What if I don't want to go back? What if, after a week without Facebook, I don't want to use social media anymore? None of my friends live near me. My social anxiety is particularly picky about phones. How would I comfortably keep up with the people in my life if I didn't have Facebook?
I wouldn't.
"And would that be such a bad thing?" the quiet little voice asks. "In normal circumstances, you would have parted ways by now. You've been without them in the real sense for at least a year now. Why hold on? Why cling to the illusion?"
I'm not entirely certain I like that train of thought. Also, I have to wake up at 5:00am to get to work on time tomorrow, and I'm trying to limit my caffeine intake. It's 11:30. It'll be midnight at least before I'm able to get to sleep. Resting would probably be wise.
Standing on the precipice of this, I can't decide if I'm excited or dreading it. Either way, I expect to learn something about myself, and that's what life is about, right?
I expect you'll be seeing a lot more of me this week.
That's so incredibly sad.
I didn't leave my computer. I wasn't doing anything. I was just spewing my thoughts to the whole wide world, rather like what I'm doing at the moment. They weren't silly thoughts, for the most part, but they were passive. It made me realize exactly how much of my life has been eclipsed by social media. I didn't like the feeling.
Several days ago, I realized something. My writing productivity plummeted in 2007. I know this. Previously, I had blamed the decline on college. I was in South Carolina. I had a social life to maintain. I didn't have time to putter around in my own head like I'd done in high school when I was a complete outcast (and relatively happy that way). But for the past year, I've been back in North Carolina. I have no social life here. Whatsoever. If I'm lucky, I leave my house once a week for something that isn't work or school related. Usually it's even less often than that. To say "I don't get out much" is a ridiculous understatement. This is pretty much where I was in high school, or as close as I can simulate while still (a) keeping my job and (b) living with my dogs.
So it wasn't college. What else changed in 2007?
I joined Facebook.
And I started to wonder -- is that where all my words went? Have I started stalking Facebook feeds instead of fantasy worlds? It seems more than probable.
So for the next week, I've disabled my ability to access Facebook. I posted a message to say that I'd be away, and I set StayFocusd (an anti-procrastination app for Chrome) to block Facebook for the next 168 hours.
I don't have a wordcount goal for how much I'd like to accomplish in my internet sabbatical. This is more of an experiment than an attempt to spur myself to some creative goal. It's not that I want to complete X by the time I enable Facebook again, but rather, that I want to see what will have been completed when StayFocusd gives me my social media fix again at 10:30pm next Wednesday.
It's been an hour. Not even. In that time, I've written this blog post and around 1,000 words on my outline for The Empty People. I'm trying to write a detailed, blow-by-blow outline of TEP in freewriting style. It's not about eloquence, but I want to be able to see the whole story from beginning to end in one concrete place. I think that could be easily divided into the phases I was aiming for earlier, and those will comfortably help me finish this beast. I'm feeling Yosseval again. Finn still needs to be more human. You can't have an antagonist who reads like an irresponsible frat boy. Or at least, that doesn't suit this properly.
That's a really good analogy for Finn, though. Finn and Sodaine -- the irresponsible frat boys who are going to be running the kingdom in ten years.
The NaNo urge is flaring up again. I blame the weather. Every time the air starts to get a little crisp, every time that brief kiss of autumn dances closer, my fingers itch for the keyboard and my mind turns toward fiction. It's remarkably predictable. You could set your calendar by it. The NaNo countdown today said 40 days remaining. Cue annual late-September panic. So I'm going to try to bash my way through to the end of plotting The Empty People by writing this freewriting outline. I'd like to be done by the time October starts. Then I want to start establishing some serious writer habits. Not the "I'll write when I have time" bullshit that I normally spout, but a real schedule. I'd like to write at least a thousand words a day in October, then move up to NaNo quota once November starts. That seems very reasonable.
I read the blog of an author the other day. Judging by what I gleaned from her blog writing, she's mediocre at best. That's fine -- mediocre and published is still better than me. I looked at the wordcounts she was pulling in, and it seemed silly, almost. Less than a thousand words a day, most of the time. But she's published. She took the slow-and-steady path, and damned if she didn't win the race. So I tell myself that this year, I'm not necessarily going to be slow, but I want to try to learn how to be steady.
I didn't think the Facebook urge would strike as quickly as it did. 200 words into my summary of TEP, I could feel my alt+tab fingers getting trigger-happy. What would I tell Facebook about the paragraph I just wrote? Did they need to know that I was starting to outline the whole novel? I stopped myself from minimizing the window at least twenty times in that thousand words. Once every fifty words. Using average sentences, that's around once every paragraph.
My god, I'm pathetic.
I'm allowed to have this blog, which I fully expect no one will read. It's here for Posterity And Things, not for mere mortals. Or something pretentious like that. I'm allowed to use Skype. I'm allowed to do pretty much anything, actually, except access Facebook. And I'm going to try to avoid getting my media fix via forums, because I hadn't been doing that before this experiment started. I don't want to jump from one manifestation to another -- I want to see what happens when I quit social media cold turkey for seven days.
NOW it has been a full hour. Total words written: 1787. 100 words above NaNo quota in an hour. The first hour. JUST the first hour.
I have no idea what my emotions are going to be like at the end of this week. Will I be frantic to get back to my social media, to throw myself back into the fold? Will I feel relieved, vindicated, victorious to have completed some massive RL undertaking while my Facebook feed was idle? Will I even want to go back?
What if I don't want to go back? What if, after a week without Facebook, I don't want to use social media anymore? None of my friends live near me. My social anxiety is particularly picky about phones. How would I comfortably keep up with the people in my life if I didn't have Facebook?
I wouldn't.
"And would that be such a bad thing?" the quiet little voice asks. "In normal circumstances, you would have parted ways by now. You've been without them in the real sense for at least a year now. Why hold on? Why cling to the illusion?"
I'm not entirely certain I like that train of thought. Also, I have to wake up at 5:00am to get to work on time tomorrow, and I'm trying to limit my caffeine intake. It's 11:30. It'll be midnight at least before I'm able to get to sleep. Resting would probably be wise.
Standing on the precipice of this, I can't decide if I'm excited or dreading it. Either way, I expect to learn something about myself, and that's what life is about, right?
I expect you'll be seeing a lot more of me this week.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)