Who set that alarm?

You may recall a few weeks ago I mentioned a slight job opportunity that seemed to head my way. I never wrote anything further than that initial post because, well, I'm ridiculously paranoid about discussing jobs before I actually get them. I swear I have intereviewed for jobs that were so perfect, and I was so sure it was mine, that I bragged about it and then didn't get it.

This one turned out positively in my favor. A former employer, this is a small company with a small writing staff but lots of writing to do. I am on site just on Wednesday every week and writing is all I do. It doesn't pay that great, but they are very thankful to have the extra help. Oddly enough, when you are not attending soul-sucking meetings every 20 minutes, you manage to get quite alot accomplished.

While this is a great event, I was unprepared for resuming a work schedule. And by work schedule, I mean waking up before 7. I try to keep the ball of fire on a decent schedule. He doesn't sleep in, he's in bed by 9, but our day doesn't ususally start until 7:30 or 8.

So when the alarm went off at 5:45 a.m. on Wednesday, I sat up, slammed the snooze and said, "Who the fuck set the alarm for dark-fucking-thirty!?" The hubby, of course, snored on through.

I laid there, fuming, and realized I was the asshole who set the alarm for dark-fucking-thirty. Shit.

I managed to drag my ass out of bed and dress in clothing that somewhat matched. The ball of fire wasn't too excited to get up early either (a trait that runs in our family) but was very excited to go to school.

I had a solid 45 minutes to listen to angry rock music and suck down a Dr. Pepper before I had to interact with other humans. When I worked at the yet-to-be-named tax preparation company, I had a rule that you were not allowed to talk to me before 9. Those who broke that rule were treated with disdain and called foul names that besmirched their family lineage. One a few occasions, I was known to throw things.

I did make it through the day despite the fact that I was desperate for a nap by 2, and starved for my regular diet of cheese sticks and Dr. Pepper. Ironically, they were impressed with my funny, sunny personality and my quick, frank writing style. I might get to stay a little longer.

But on the bright side, I managed to fit my ass into a pair of pants that I haven't worn since preconception of the ball of fire.

Who says the crabby bitch anorexic diet is bad for your body?