Who's Ready For Work Tomorrow?

Not this girl right here. In my rush to get out of work on time (and by on time, I mean the 2 hours early that I got off work since I put in extra hours a couple days prior), I wasn't able to meticulously prepare for Monday's happenings. And now that's it 8:33pm on Sunday, and there's a bottle of Cab/Shiraz breathing on the counter calling my name, it's a little late to try and prep for tomorrow's shindigs. Tomorrow morning will be moving and shaking.

But at least I was able to tackle 96% of my laundry. There are still those few articles lingering that have to be "handwashed" (definition: delicate cycle, because this blogger is too lazy for actual handwashing), but I'll get there. And I picked up a few more hangers to finally put away the slight addition I've made to the corporate wardrobe. For once I won't wake up in the middle of the night and have to navigate the floor and stairs like a Vietnamese mine field.

One thing I've been attempting to start up is unofficially making out a menu for the week. I get ideas, but they never really transpire. Then wook and I are too tired/hungry/lazy to cook for ourselves so we'll meander Granby St. in search of someone else to cook. I make the claim that I'm still in the learning process of functioning in an apartment, with another human being, financial responsibilites, housekeeping needs, and all that goes along with being a grown up. Living with my parents was awesome. Wake up. Eat Cheerios. Go to work. Come home for lunch. Go back to work (a 6-minute drive, mind you). Come home to the parents. Enjoy an adult beverage with the Fajah. Have one of the parents make dinner. Watch Cash Cab over dinner. Sample the Food Network/Discovery Channel/History Channel shows. Talk to the boy. Call it a night.

The real world is a whole different story. There's the milk supply to keep atop of (which to be honest, I still haven't gotten to the store after not having milk on Friday for my breakfast). The cooking to do. The dishes that come with that. And the cleaning, which is not my favorite thing in the world. And all while driving the 8 miles to work and back (which thankfully isn't in the stream of heavy rush-hour traffic). There are times when dishes have sat on the stove for a few nights. There's been some stinky trash that's been needed to be taken out, but it had to sit there for a bit before I was able to get around to it. It's been a shift in lifestyle, and I'm hopefully coming to the end of the breaking-in period of returning to the responsibility realm.

The last thing on my list is to charge my phone. It's been dead since Friday. I think. Maybe early Saturday morning. I don't remember. I just know it's sitting on the counter, no life, and I'm tempting to go plug it in so I can become reattached again to the world. But then I think how nice it's been to not have a leash. It's been awhile since I've dropped off the face of the world. If you would have needed to get ahold of me, you would already know how (and yes, I do accept carrier pigeons as a legitimate form of correspondence).

So for the rest of the evening, I'll be enjoying some time with my other favorite dysfunctional family. The Bluths (the Arrested Development family).

And hopefully I'll get to the store for that milk. I don't know how much longer I can go through Cheerio Detox before I jump ship for Cherry Coke in my cereal. Desperate times call for desperate measures.