Thursday, March 22, 2012
CHOCOLATE THERAPY SOUP
Figuritively speaking, that is.
After only catching nine hours of sleep in three nights, in addition to writing late into the wee hours of the morning continuously for going on a month, I had to go to bed, go directly to bed, passing up my 40 Days of Writing entirely last night.
I was past exhausted. My husband said I looked not unlike a very old houndog, my eyeballs drooping down to my nostrils. (Thank you, darling.)
But he was right. I looked and felt like hell.
Why must it be so difficult to fit in time for writing? It's what I love. It's what I do best. All day every day at my day job (hence, the term), I copy and paste numbers. While I appreciate the job and the benefits, and am thankful for them, it is hard to feel passion for what I am doing right now.
Writing is my passion. But I have to squeeze it in between copying and pasting numbers for eight hours a day, five days a week and schlepping groceries (my night job), for three hours a night, three nights a week and every Saturday morning. and damn it, no way around it...I need at least six hours of sleep a night. Should have eight.
They say, "Do what you love, the money will follow."
Was I ranting just now? Oops. Sorry.
Anyway, about last night...I am disappointed in myself that I did not write. But like I said, I had no choice.
Had to sleep.
I was so overtired, of course, I could not sleep. So I took two Excedrin PM, ate half pint of Ben and Jerry's Chocolate Therapy, and conked out. (Yes. A half pint. I wanted Chunky Monkey, but my husband swore they were out.)
John had put the yummy frozen concoction in the fridge for a moment to soften it a bit. I swallowed two Excedrin PM, grabbed the carton of Chocolate Therapy out of the fridge, ripped off the protective plastic, grabbed a spoon and had at it. Ahhhh.
"I will have to buy you a new carton of Chocolate Therapy," my husband just informed me this morning.
"Oh, did you eat what was left?" I asked, upon waking refreshed and revitalized after almost nine glorious hours of sleep.
"Um, no," he said.
Apparently, in my fatigue, I put Ben and Jerry right back where I found them, in the fridge, not the freezer. The boys were nothing but Chocolate Therapy soup by this morning.