I'm tired of this week. I can't wait (that doesn't quite seem to express it. I CAN'T WAIT) to move, but there's another week of sidling around my boyfriend's chilly roommates. (Granted, I'm enormously grateful I was able to live there for a month after my own lease expired, but I DID pay them.) Work's been kicking my ass, and I've had things to do after work every night. And I owe phone calls to half a dozen people, including my grandmother. I guess I sound whiny, but I just feel worn out. (Okay, okay...Erika and Liz S. are saying, "At least you don't have a two-year-old to chase after!")
Luckily, tonight Chris and I are going to measure our new pad, which will give me daydream ammunition, and hopefully this weekend will provide lots of hermit time, muffins from Blue Sky, and one last autumn flop in Prospect Park. Also, we might get to have brunch with Cole and Jeremy.
You know you're a grown-up when you start looking forward to Sunday brunch with the same glee you used to assign to a Friday night on the town.
4 comments:
Really, Ms. Arnold? The very same glee?
Don't feel bad about saying you are worn out. Your job and your life has its own stresses. And I totally understand what you mean. On Fridays, we go out at 5:15 and are home by 10:00 at the very latest. And we sit in the almost empty non-smoking section. And lunch with friends always sounds really really nice. A lot nicer than taking shots and hassling crowds. I like getting older mostly, except for the much larger ass.
Hah. I think my ass got smaller. ;)
I happen to love-since forever-Sunday brunch. I just love going out for breakfast probably because I like to eat it so much. It's relaxing and it feels like a not so naughty splurge.
Post a Comment