A day in the life

I was figuring out my schedule with someone and got a “you are so busy!” response. Before I apologized, I caught myself. How are we doing on the not apologizing ladies?

So I mentally started writing this “day in the life post.”

By the time I get out of bed, I generally know what I am going to wear. Either it was decided the day before, or decided upon while pretending to get a few more minutes of sleep.

On this particular day, I had decided the night before, when seeing a friend because I was telling her about my new dress from Anthro. Since I was seeing her the next day, I knew I had to wear it.

I get out of bed at 7 a.m. to make it to work before 8:30. Generally 8:15 is my goal. I cannot get up any earlier without a dang good reason.

Work consists of managing projects, social media, media in general. Sometimes I take lunch, sometimes I get something to go and come back and work. Sometimes I take the full hour to myself and go for a walk. Or, I meet with friends. Those are my favorite days.

On this day, we took a retiring coworker out to lunch. In the public sector, retirements are celebrated quite a bit, and I will be sorry to see this friend go. I’m excited for him though.

We went to The Reddoor, which I can’t wait to go back to. Absolutely charming. I had the macaroni and cheese and the grilled cheese. And the sweet potato fries. I told you I celebrated my birthday week with cheese.

Of course this puts me in an absolute food coma and I end up working late just to get things done. Especially since the previous week I took off work to go to girls camp. My strategy of trying to move things off my desk as quickly as possible is completely defeated with a week off work.

I consumed no less than 5 glasses of water at lunch — those of you who have ever dined with me are not surprised. We got back from lunch and I ran straight for the restroom. When I got back to my desk, my coworker surprised me with birthday flowers. Gorgeous. I work with good people.

I get home at 6 p.m. I get busy. I hear the laundry whirring as I walk past and know that husband has started a load — the only remnant of husband’s presence in the house. He’s at the library. I check, I have 12 minutes.

The heat wave that we’ve been having is delicious, but it heats up our house to an out-of-control state. I grab a thawed Dream Dinners out of the fridge and gag when it says to heat the over to 400 degrees. I do it anyway.

I strip to my undies because the house is a furnace. The following tasks are completed in my skivvies, in attempts to fully use the 12 minutes from the laundry. I realize my bras need handwashing, so I start that soaking process. I clean up the kitchen. I take dinner out of the oven, and because I have to be somewhere in 30 minutes, I simply separate it all into 3 gladware containers and put it straight into the fridge.

The dress comes back on and I realize I have 10 minutes. I decide to clean up dog poo. Because it is hot and when it is hot outside the yard gets smelly. I don’t want it to be smelly.

I put flip flops on to do this. I finish. I put my heels back on and switch the laundry. I look at the bedding and realize there isn’t time to wash that. I realize I can take the trash out if I hurry.

It is at this precise moment, while hurling a trash bag into the receptacle that I realize I could never own Louboutins, as much as my heart desires (I have about half of the funds earmarked for my MBA graduation). At least now now. Walking around in almost $100 Enzos makes me nervous.

Something tells me that a lady doesn’t throw the trash out in $600 Loubies.

I text husband, who is at the library studying this whole time, about the status of the laundry and get to my thing, stopping on the way to take these outfit photos in a deserted parking lot. A maintenance guy stops to watch me. I wave and leave.

Home at 9 p.m., I draft a presentation on Powerpoint for a project I’m working on. It was due the next day. I blog.

Bubble bath is mandatory. It always is on Wednesdays. My muscles need a recharge, and by 11 p.m. it has cooled down enough for a steaming hot bath to be acceptable. I like it hot, hot, hot.

I land in bed feeling productive. The next day I don’t wash the sheets. In fact, I go out with a friend. I decide to switch them with clean ones in the closet and wash both sets next week. Procrastination is hobby numero uno.