My fingers are tired this morning. Between writing and counting money, I’m exhausted.
Here’s a poemette: My days are long, my nights are short. My temper’s a-flarin’, ________________________. (You fill in the rest. I’m too tired to think.)
Tomorrow’s a big day. I’ll tell you why later. It will be sad, it will be happy, all at the same time.
Today? Well, today is a short day for me. Although by noon, I’ll already have been up for nine hours.
“Holy Potato Ricer,” she screamed.
Since management has shifted at Bob’s stores–one store is called The Little Store and the other The Big Store (that’s how creative we are)–I’m pulling double-duty going in at 3:45 a.m., doing the store’s morning books, throwing on some coffee and basically complaining about everything once I get there. It’s my new job. I do it well. The complaining, that is. The books won’t balance and I can’t make the coffee just right. I’m no GoldiLocks. Nothing is ever Just Right for me. Boo hoo. Hold on. I need a tissue.
Then I come home and do my REAL job. I write and make stuff up. It’s really, really, really hard.
Friday looks boring. That’s nice. No pressure. Maybe after I get home from the store at 5 O’CLOCK IN THE MORNING, I’ll go back to bed. Friday is looking better all the time. Maybe I’ll grab a book to fall asleep with. Hey! Are you falling to sleep reading this post?
Suggestion: Grab one of my many books before slipping in-between the sheets! You’ll find them at: http://susanwingate.com/#!books/cnec.
That was ghastly and blatant. So sorry. Hold on. I’m self-flogging. I’ll be just a minute.
Ouch. Ack. Ooo. That one hurt! Stop it! Stop!
Okay. I’m sorry about the hideous self-promotion thingy-do on (Forgodbid) my own blog. I’ll try to do it again sometime soon but next time with pictures.