Six days

Monday: I just met the last of a series of deadlines (including a deadline for a newsletter article for my neighborhood newsletter, which if I'm being honest, doesn't really count because I sent my article in several days late, but I think that the newsletter editor has a special deadline just for me, because in 10 years, I've never once been on time) and it's nice to have a figurative minute to breathe. I left work at 5:30 tonight. It won't last, and honestly, that's OK with me. I like to be busy, and I work better under pressure. Or rather, I produce better work--I'm not sure if that's the same as working better.

My son, who is almost 16 now, got his hair cut today. It's very short on the sides and in the back, and kind of poufy on the top. He has the kind of hair that grows up and out, not down. I'd rather a less extreme cut, but it does look cool, and he's happy with it. So that's fine. What's not fine is that his brother, who is not yet 13, now wants the same haircut. My younger son still looks like a little boy, and I would like for him to continue looking like a little boy. He, of course, would like to stop looking like a little boy, and as quickly as possible. It's his hair, I guess.

*****
Tuesday:  Disregard the first paragraph of Monday's entry.

Meanwhile, since we are (or were) on the subject of hair, you should know that I am one of those women who has no idea what to do with her hair. You've seen us, I'm sure. There's always a headband, or a ponytail holder, or a clip somewhere, and our hair grows out for months, while we postpone hair appointments, or avoid making them altogether, because refer to the first sentence of this paragraph--we have no idea what do do with our hair.

I'm dispensing with the royal "we" now. It's not we, but rather me, or rather I. I have no idea what to do with my hair. It has already become a problem, and it'll soon be an altogether unmanageable problem. We'll cross that bridge when we come to it. Or rather, I will.

*****
Wednesday: What is worse than making a deadline, and then waking up the next morning to find that major revisions are requested, and that your new deadline is tomorrow? Plenty of things, of course, when you consider life and the world as a whole; but within the more narrow realm of technical writing for a Federal government contractor, this would have to rank among the worst things ever. Super fun day.

*****
Thursday: I suppose this isn't true 100% of the time; but generally, if someone asks you if you can "see your way clear" to doing or not doing something, you can probably assume that the act or omission is illegal or immoral or unethical or all three.

*****
Saturday: There's a silver lining for almost everything. Panic-induced insomnia, for example, though no fun at all, does tend to keep a person on her toes. Just today, I officiated at a swim meet, started and finished a particularly odious work task, started (but didn't quite finish) a weekly team newsletter, grocery shopped, did laundry, cooked dinner, and went swimming. I'm very productive.

*****
Sunday: My husband asked me to pick up his prescription, and I'm sad to say that I'm now the person who sees an old lady shuffling toward the pharmacy desk at Rite-Aid, and practically breaks into a run to beat her there.  Because there are three places where you don't want to be behind the old lady in line:
1. The deli counter at Giant (OMG)
2. Any pharmacy, anywhere in the world
3. The confession line at St. Patrick's RC Church, on any Saturday afternoon

I speak from bitter experience. Sorrynotsorry as they say on the Internet.

Meanwhile, the productivity streak continues, and I even finished the swim team newsletter. I'm an unstoppable force. If I figure out what to do with my hair, I'll probably run for Congress.