Word to all of the unemployed: do not wake up at 6:30am, get your daughter ready for daycare (which is paid through the month), drop her off at 8 and then come home and crawl back in bed to sleep in until noon. It might sound like a good idea at the time, like maybe you deserve a little nappie with the curtains drawn, but believe me, you will wake up with your jeans all crumpled, an ache in the back of your head where your ponytail was, depressed.
An even worse idea? Once you wake up, don't go online to balance your dwindling checkbook.
Yesterday I spent the afternoon at Barnes & Noble reading books about writing. I made it out of there with only 2 purchases: The Writer's Market 2008 and The Dog Walked Down the Street: An Outspoke Guide for Writers Who Want to Publish and Keep Their $4000/Month Mortgage On The Up and Up. Okay, I added that last part about the mortgage but I'm really hoping there's something in there about that, too. I was the type of girl who in college would go to the library and take out every single book with a reference to Lysistrata in it, feeling good about the progress of my term paper because the books were stacked high by my desk. I would sit at my computer and play Tetris until I saw those little geometric shapes even when I closed my eyes, not actually writing anything until the night before the paper was due. That method served me well in college, but now? Now I have 4 months to figure out my life and those little geometric shapes are dropping from the sky faster and faster.
Bryan left for New York last night. But before you say "coffee table" let me assure you this is a wife-approved trip. Because apparently my husband is too sexy for his pancreas.
Long story short: Bryan is diabetic. Diagnosed at 17 after a Vespa accident, the trauma of which shut down his pancreas. He gives himself 4 shots a day. My brother is a filmmaker and commercial director. He got a gig directing a campaign for a new glucose meter and just happened to mention to the client that his brother-in-law is diabetic but still surfs and sails and doesn't let it get in the way of his life. The client liked that slant and now my west-coast scruff-muffin is in NY getting a wardrobe fitting and a manicure, maybe a little eyeliner to bring out the green in his eyes. He will kill me for saying this but years ago after much pleading on my part he let me put mascara on him because he really does have the most beautiful thick curly lashes and oh my. He was stunning.
So if you see this guy on a commercial or in print ads telling you that some new glucose meter works, believe him, he is not an actor. He is my husband and might I say pancreas or not, a very sexy one at that.
Now you will excuse me if I have to run off to read a book on writing. There are a lot of holes in my Tetris wall and it's creeping upwards much too quickly.