Katie Doyle, Girl About Town

Wednesday, Jan. 12, 2005 - 8:56 a.m.

I am currently working myself back to a day schedule. I have been up since 5am. Have I mentioned there's not a lot to do at 5am? Coz, there's not.

Oh, I'm sure all you overachievers in the bunch are heartily retorting "the deuce, you say!" in scornful tones, and I'm sure if I were one of you, I'd have Martha Stewarted my way thru several batches of brownies for my daughter's Girl Scout troop, a HUGE bowl of pancake batter, eggs, bacon, sausage and toast for everyone on the block, and at least 5 loads of laundry by now, at 8:59am.

I am not one of you.

I am a person who normally strives for bed by 5am. As such, I am right now trying to stay conscious when my body knows - and stridently insists - it should be in bed sleeping right now. It's hard to channel Martha when the siren call of bed and its accompanying lethargy are pretty much the center of your universe. It's hard to stay awake merely for the sake of being awake when you have no actual place to be or deadline to meet. I'm just sayin'. A job would be so totally keen by now.

Yesterday, I was working on pulling an all-nighter. By which I mean I stayed up all the night before (night before last) and all day yesterday (which would have been my bedtime), and then went to bed last night at 8pm. My mom called at 8:30 "just to talk," according to the message she left on the machine.

I have a mother who does not "just talk," so of course I called her back, figuring that "It's not important or anything, I just called to talk; I'll try your cell," was Momspeak for "the cat's on the roof and we can't get it down," and the real deal was that my incredibly unhealthy father had just kicked the bucket, and it was my mom's duty as the family stalwart to call me and tell me, but being the mom she is now, and having the relationship she has with my dad (it's called hate), she really didn't want to interrupt a perfectly good evening to bring me down with the bad news, so she left a gentle sort of message, knowing I'd call her back the next day. Plus, with the time difference, it was 10:30 where Mom lives, and the woman goes to bed at 10 on the dot, so I figured it must be serious for my mother to be calling me half an hour past her bedtime on a work night. So I immediately get up and say to TB "someone died." And he, who was pulling an all-nighter as well, and was probably equally exhausted and praying he wouldn't have to deal with death in the family, was like "no one died, she said it wasn't important," at which point I had to explain my mother's sleep schedule and mode of Momspeak to him, and then I called my mother back, and lo and behold, she had called to ask me whether or not she had seen my name going by on the credits of some show that was about to come on tv, because she thought she had, and if it was me in it, she was going to watch it. But it wasn't, so she said I could go back to bed, which I did, but then I couldn't sleep again for about an hour.

I woke up at 1:30 wide awake, but managed to get back to sleep, and then when I woke up at 4:40 this morning, TB was already up and working, so I figured what the heck and got up. And now I really, really, REALLY want to go back to bed.

::sigh::

There's really no moral or anthing to this story, I just thought I'd recount it. And since I type (and punctuate) really badly when I'm this tired, I think I'll end this there.

Peace out,
Katie

ps. i *did* go have a greek omelette in all its feta-y goodness at 7. it was darn good, yo. po, kd

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