Peeps, I’m tired. This morning I found it nearly painful to get out of bed. I felt as if I’d sucked down eight margaritas then went for a swim in quicksand. Finally, finally, after snoozing the alarm too many times to count and being poked at and shaken by The Husband, I got up and on with it.
But it wasn’t pleasant for anyone involved.
On Thursday I go back for my second appointment at the Pacific Center for Plastic Surgery. (I like to say their whole name. It sounds important.) I made up for taking Thursday and Friday off by working this past weekend. Which means I will sleepwalk my way into the office tomorrow on what will be day seven of nine.
This really wouldn’t be so bad if I didn’t currently find myself in a pattern of staying up too late each night to finish “just one more page.” So, yes, it’s entirely my fault. (And to anyone with young children, anyone who has to work before eight a.m., anyone who doesn’t have the opportunity to sleep as much as I do… I apologize. But that doesn’t change the fact that I feel physically exhausted.)
So, why am I still up writing? Because I love you. And because I realized I hadn’t yet taken a picture today. And I came this close to saying “forget it”… and then decided to stick with it. ‘Cause I really should try to finish something.
And because I look at this blog as a type of modern day scrapbook and I want to have these posts and pictures to look back on in the future. I want to look back on this one of our girl Mercedes and remember she was “middle aged” in this photo. And I want to remember what a shock it was to realize that just days before said photo was taken. She’s only seven, but in cat years… And I want to remember how sweet she was at this age, how she used to curl up on my lap and then, in sleep, how she’d stretch out in the nook of my own outstretched legs.
I need to remember this, because when we first adopted her? She was nearly two years old and for a solid six months I was this close to giving her up. ‘Cause she was freaking batshit crazy.