At Least I'm Wearing My Nicest Pajamas

[revena]

I guess a lot of you probably know that I work at my dad’s law firm during the week, except for Fridays. Fridays are for writing, in theory. What that means, in practice, is that I stay up really late on Thursday nights doing some writing, fall into bed around four or five in the morning, wake up noonish on Fridays, run errands, and then come back and do some more writing on Friday nights.

I can write when the sun is out, but it’s a lot easier after around seven in the evening, so I usually just go with what works.

Anyway, the point of this little summary is to explain why I’m still in my pajamas, hair an unwashed braided knot on the back of my head, at two thirty in the afternoon on this particular Friday.

Dad likes to take advantage of my staying home one day a week, sometimes, and schedule maintenance and repairs on the house(s), knowing that I’ll be around to let people in and/or lock up after them when they’re done.

Today, I woke up at around noon (after a long night of working on my entry for argonathon and talking to kphoebe over Skype about all of the people I want to punch in the face, this week), and sort’ve slumped around the house for a while. I figured I’d take a shower, eat something, and then go run some errands, but first - email! So I wasted a pleasant hour on the computer, and then got up to take that shower. And then the phone rang. It was Dad. Telling me that some guys were at the big house fixing the alarm system, and he had told them that they could knock on my door when they were done, and I’d lock up. Apparently, they had projected that they would be done around one in the afternoon, so he thought he’d give me a little warning that they’d be knocking soon.

Ok, I thought. Probably best to hold off on the shower, then – don’t want to be either partially clothed or incapable of hearing them, when they knock. That’s cool. Delaying my errands twenty minutes or so won’t hurt anything.

So then I sat around for an hour and a half, wishing I could take the goddamn shower already, but not daring, and too distracted from listening for the knock on the door to do anything productive like, say, writing. Finally, about five minutes ago, the guys knocked, and I went and locked up the other house. And now I’m gonna take a shower. Finally.

Being a writer is so glamorous.