Kitten Heel Marvel Goes to the Airport.

1. Panic. I’m going to miss my flight. I’m going to be late. I’m going to miss my flight. I’m going to be late. (Note that I typically arrive at the airport several hours before I fly, so this panic is just anxiety. Ah, anxiety. My closest friend.)

2. Suitcase. Why did I overpack? Am I going on safari? Why is this bag so heavy? Do I need another bag? How much will they charge me for this thing? Will I fall to my death trying to get this thing on an escalator? (This problem would be solved, time and time again, if I packed judiciously and not like an undisciplined hyena. What, you didn’t know most hyenas were disciplined?)

3. Bathroom. What if I have to go to the bathroom? Don’t they know I loathe hate public restrooms? But what if I have to go? (I go now. They’re mostly clean. And my bladder thanks me.)

Happy flying to me.

Project: Bridesmaid

Two months until we ladies in the bridal party are the pink (well, teal) to my lovely cuzzo’s white. If you’re wondering whether I’m panicking, excited, mostly starving myself, happy, and readying my party dances, yes, yes, yes, yes, and yes.

Onwards.

extra, extra, read all about it: it’s not 1998.

You wouldn’t know it, though, based on the way I’ve been behaving of late.

In 1998, I was 20 years old. Back then, not only did I burn the candle at both ends, but I beat the candle up, trashed it like a rock star, and did it day after day without blinking. At that time, I balanced a full-time college schedule and two jobs, one of which I would head to after school and typically close for, not leaving until midnight or thereafter. After work was over, I’d head home and turn my attention to homework, sometimes staying up until 3 or 4 in the morning until everything was done. And that was just during the week. Ah, youth. (In case you’re counting, I’m presently a year older than this, and in about a month and a half, will be two years older. Let’s discuss that later, shall we?)

Apparently, though, I’ve been trying to relive the rock star days of yore lately, staying up until the wee hours of the morning and having the audacity to believe that I will 1) wake up on time the next day; 2) stay awake on the metro and totally not fall asleep and miss my stop in the process; 3) get to work on time, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, ready for the day to come; and 4) remain energetic throughout the day, hardly wishing I could sob from fatigue and sleep all at the same time. The audacity, really. So, what’s the reason, you wonder? After all, those college/concert/party days are waaay over.

Wait for it…wait for it…

1. I’m a night owl.
2. The Golden Girls comes on at midnight and ends around 2am.

Feel free to commence with “you brought it on yo’self.”

I’m sleepy. Onwards.

Kissing Valentino by a crystal blue Italian stream.

The title above comes from a song I’ve happily quoted to death.

Related to that song, it was quite the Monday.

I was caught having a conversation with myself in the hallway today. Yeah. Full on conversation. Provide an explanation? Sure. I’m going nuts.

This job is making me crazy. Seriously. It’s all-consuming, it’s stressful, it’s all-consuming, it’s stressful…

I mean, I’m not performing heart surgery or anything, but good night, Irene, this place is taking over my life. I’ve always been someone who leaves work where it should remain: inside the building. In a way, I still am that person. When I vacate the premises, I truly vacate. Work shmork. It’s over and out for the day, blissfully kaput, done.

…However, of late, I find myself thinking too much about the premises and what needs to be done. Most of the time, it’s quite a bit that needs to be done. And a million things to remember. And silly questions pointed in my direction. (The meeting is at 4pm. The capable clock on your computer tells you that it’s 4pm. You get a reminder that the meeting is at 4pm. Yet…you ask me if the meeting is at 4pm? Huh?) And thousands of e-mails. And…and…Perhaps this is why I was discovered in the middle of a conversation with myself today. Perhaps.

Solutions? In the short term, I resolve to keep all conversations inside my comfortable head and get up from my desk for plenty of clear-the-mind and take-deep-breath walks around the building.

Until I attain a semblance of sanity, I will totally pretend that I’m singing if someone catches me talking to myself again. Totally.

Seriously, every Monday should be Manic.

I just thoroughly dislike Mondays. I do. There’s nothing redeeming about Mondays. Everything is weird and your neck hurts (because you slept on rollers, but whatever) and you’re disoriented and you miss the weekend and…Mondays are disdainful. We need Mondays, yes; everything needs a beginning, but must the beginning be so blah and blecch? Sheesh. Of course, I’m only adding to the negativity of this day by being so negative, so I’m leavin’ it alone. I love you, Tuesday.

On a brighter note, I saw the loveliest, little movie this past weekend. Entitled Bella, it was just spare and simple and so moving. I enjoyed it immensely. It even inspired me (far and few between these days), got me excited, made me want to sit down and write something. It was excellent.

Why is the world filled with nuisances? Why do nuisances come in the form of human beings and not mosquitoes, which is how it should be? I ask because I am currently annoyed by a nuisance here at the office, and I cannot stand it. (Gender removed purposely).